Diversus Vicis
by Artemisdesari
Summary: AU from Mystery Spot. What if Gabriel had said no? How would that change things? This is what it does to the world when Dean is not there to keep Sam from doing something drastic. Eventual Dean/Castiel
1. Mystery Spot

_So I have a crazy brain, one that came up with a thought while I was watching Mystery Spot. I was supposed to be unwinding and it spawned a question in my warped head: What if the Trickster has said no? It has spawned an AU that I may or may not continue depending on the reactions I get. As for pairings, well, I can't make any promises because we all know that as far as Dean and Cas are concerned I can't help myself. We'll see when we get there, _if_ we get there. Potentially there'll be a chapter a week if it continues and there'll be a whole host of people for me to play with. I love playing with people._

_**Disclaimer:** They really aren't mine. If they were things would be a whole lot more interesting. In fact, anything you recognise from the show isn't mine..... including certain lines from certian episodes  
_

Diversus Vicis

Gabriel is sulking. He is well aware that as an almost all powerful archangel, such behaviour is actually far beneath him. He is also aware that an archangel should not know _how_ to sulk. As it happens, he does not particularly _care_. He has managed to get himself taken by surprise by two of the most incompetent human beings on the face of the planet. The Winchester brothers could not see their fate laid out in front of them even though it was practically written in starlight across the heavens, they cannot accept their purpose and their use, and yet they managed to figure out _what_ he is and _how_ to imprison him with a somewhat terrifying level of efficiency.

As far as he is concerned, it is a worrying indicator of just how high the level of expose to angels has been for the Winchesters. Most humans are lucky if they meet an angel once, let alone have repeated contact with the same one over the course of a twelve month period. Unfortunately, it is not just _one_ angel that has been interfering with the Winchester way of life, it has been several and though Gabriel knows that any one of them could have tipped Sam and Dean off to the existence of Holy Oil, he is fairly certain that Castiel is the main culprit in all of this. He _is_, after all, the one who disobeyed for Dean.

Things were so much simpler, he thinks, when Sam was blinded by rage and grief. Simpler when the youngest Winchester brother would stop at nothing to make sure that he got his revenge on Gabriel for his actions against Dean. It makes the archangel turned trickster god wonder if things would have been different if he had allowed Dean's soul to actually make it to Hell rather than have an associate hold onto it until he gave the word.

Granted Sam's focus on Lillith would have been depleted somewhat, and his associate would be most displeased with that, but Gabriel is well aware of the influence of the demon 'Ruby' in the young hunter's actions so he is fairly certain that she will prove just as useful in diverting his attention _away_ from the archangel until much later. Whether it would have an affect on Sam agreeing to host Lucifer is another matter and another consideration.

As for Dean. That is something else entirely. The man broke in three months, thirty hellish years admittedly, but it is not nearly enough time to allow Sam to become the revenge obsessed border sociopath that he had. He cannot see a way around it, unless his associate will agree to help with this as well and he can see it being something of a challenge. She is, after all, no stranger to Hell, the Underworld, but her departure and the reasons behind it are still something of a mystery to the archangel.

These musings are pointless, anyway, he realises, going back in time is one thing and relatively easy for him, changing the beginning of an event as monumental as an apocalypse is very difficult. He will need help and he knows that he is in no position to ask any one of his brothers or sisters, added to which none of them would help him anyway. There is only one he can think of that he can go to, one who might be able to help him and who will not try to kill him on sight, and she is not going to like this idea one little bit. Still, it cannot hurt to ask.

Finding her is not quite so easy as he remembers it being, with the apocalypse in full swing and entire garrisons of angels and legions of demons roaming the Earth it is difficult to pinpoint one spark of light above all others. The one he seeks is in Britain, watching a young girl through a window with an intense kind of detachment as she runs her index finger along a full bottom lip.

"Gabriel," her voice is rich, with a gravelly quality to it and he shakes his head at the utterance of his name. He has never been able to sneak up on her.

"Hecate," he smiles, though it is brittle as the feel of her power washes over him. It is more earthy, darker, than that of his grace and it twists about her in snarl of red black strands that match the colour of her hair in the moonlight. This particular pagan goddess makes him uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she is the only one he has met who still retains a measure of her original strength and has not been forced to descend into madness and desperation to survive. There are others out there, he knows this, he has simply not been able to find them, besides, when she is in a good mood she can be very pleasant company. Tonight is not going to be one of those nights.

"I would ask what I have done to deserve the _joy_ of your company," she mutters, long fingered hand running back through rich curls, "but seeing you or any one of your brethren is not as entertaining as it once was." As it happens, he understands the sentiment but he would never admit that to _her_ of all beings. Instead he looks back at the girl in the small bungalow as she cuts into her palm and watches as Hecate snorts in disgust.

"Will you grant her prayer, oh _beneficent_ goddess?" He asks, half mocking, half serious.

"You're being ridiculous, cousin," her lips quirk, "this one is better suited to the demons."

"Can you afford to lose the followers?" He asks as she turns her back on the window. An eyebrow arches and her eyes that glow with the same power that snakes around her tell him to back off and leave it alone.

"Contrary to popular belief, I do just _fine_, Gabriel," her tone is icy. "Besides, what she wants makes her better suited to the demons than to me. Let them have her." Added to which, Gabriel muses, most of the poor schmucks who enhance her power do not actually realise that they are doing it. "Now what do you want?"

"I've come to prostrate myself before your mercy to ask your aid, gracious one," he responds and watches her arch an eyebrow at him because it is obvious that she has not missed the sarcasm in his tone.

"Careful, this will make the third time," she smirks at him. He waits because he knows that she will not be able to resist finding out why he needs help. "What with?" She asks finally and turns her back when he winks at her.

"I need to go back in time."

"You can do that under your _own_ steam, Gabriel, I hardly think you need _my_ help for that." He had forgotten how she has always been one step ahead of him, that even though she is younger than him she can still tell when he is keeping things from her. It probably has something to do with the first favour he asked for.

"I know but I can't change it, which is why I need you," it hurts to admit it, but Hecate has always been one to demand the truth and if he wants her to help him, he has to be as honest as he can.

"This is to do with the Winchesters, isn't it?" He does not look at her, becomes very interested pushing his hands deep into his pockets and allowing the humanity of the gesture to wash over him. "Gabriel! You and yours _can't_ keep dragging me into this. My survival depends on my remaining neutral."

"You've done a _brilliant_ job so far," he tells her, letting the smile play about his lips as she turns her face away from him. "Face it, your in this up to your pretty red eyes."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Gabriel," if he concentrates, Gabriel is certain that he can hear a growl in her voice. He knows that persuading her to help him will not be easy, after all, she already has what she wants from it.

"It made me a Trickster," he points out, examining his hands.

"I know," she sighs, "and I'm still at a loss as to why I agreed to that in the first place. Or why I agreed to fight off Hell Hounds for six months just so you could torture Sam Winchester." She pauses. "I'm guessing Sam didn't learn whatever it was that you were trying to teach him?"

"I think I gave him too much credit, over estimated his intelligence because of Dean's utter stupidity." He tries to shrug it off.

"Way I heard it, _Dean_ was the one who saw through you," she looks up at him, which is reassuring in a way because the vessel she made for him is not exactly tall. He would have asked for one a little bigger, but there had been a warning in her eyes at the time that had prevented him. He can be taller when he needs to be, as long as he does not fiddle too much and she is good at calling him on that anyway.

"I should have known you'd hear about that," he mumbles.

"One of mine gets trapped in a ring of holy fire, you can bet I hear about it," she shakes her head. "What you're planning will just accelerate things and then what? As soon as one side or the other wins our kind are going to be targeted, do you really think your brothers will be merciful?"

"_Our_ kind? I think you mean _your_ kind, Hecate."

"No, _ours_. I made you into one of us, Gabriel, whether you like it or not they'll treat you like you are." He does not like the smugness to her tone, the little smile or the way that her head tilts in a mockery of the expression so often used by angels, red black eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Doesn't matter," he tells her, "Sam gets mad enough he gets stupid enough to say yes to Lucifer and this will all be one step closer to being over."

"And Dean?" This is why he never likes asking the pagans for things. Unlike his brethren, they do not trust that his plans have a purpose behind them, the pagans want to know every little detail. Gabriel has never been one to look at the little details.

"Sometimes you just can't mess with fate, he just won't break as quickly," the archangel thinks on that for a moment. "Which will really upset Alistair and that's," he snorts to himself, "_that's_ just too perfect."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" She mutters. He tilts his head in question and she pulls a face. "I don't think you will ever manage to pay off this particular debt."

"I'm sure I'll be able to find _something_," he responds, holding a hand out to her. "Shall we?"

SPN

Broward County is exactly as Gabriel remembers, small town, small town people. It suited his purpose then, it suits his purpose now. Hecate is still as unimpressed as she was then, again it is no real surprise and she salutes him mockingly as she makes her way to the motel to prevent herself from protecting Dean's soul. It is a very strange arrangement and one that will allow him to head six months into the future to deal with the fall out.

He knows that his cousin is successful when he hears the scream of a goddess thwarted echoing around the town. He grins to himself and decides that since he is here anyway, he has time to have a plate of pancakes and syrup given that the last time he was here they were surprisingly good. Self indulgence over with, and as an archangel on the run he feels that he is entitled to indulge himself every once in a while, he glances down at his clothes, changes them to the ones that he remembers wearing and goes to find himself.

Literally.

Himself, past him, is sat upside down on one of the chairs stuck to the ceiling of the Mystery Spot, watching Sam with the kind of bored detachment that he remembers from this and he tilts his head at himself, wonders if his nose is really that pointed in profile and if he really looks that unhappy when he is not playing games.

"Sam isn't going to learn anything from this is he?" The trickster asks, looking up at him and having a conversation with himself is just going to be weird.

"No," Gabriel responds, taking the other chair and watching the exchange between Bobby and Sam below them, head tilting so that he can get a good, if upside down, view.

"I suppose you're the reason that Hecate decided not to keep Dean's soul out of Hell?" Gabriel nods. "Well then I really hope it was worth it, because I'd hate to see what she's going to ask for this," he snorts, smirking as Sam slams a stake through the simulacrum of Bobby. "You'll deal with the rest?" He asks.

"Naturally," Gabriel responds and sees his past self wave before departing.

"_Bobby_!" Sam's almost anguished cry brings his attention back where it belongs and he has to admit that this was part of the fun of tormenting the man.

"You're right. I was just screwing with you. Pretty good, though, Sam. Smart. Let me tell you, whoever said _Dean_ was the dysfunctional one has never seen you with a sharp object in your hands. _Holy_ Full Metal Jacket," he can feel Sam staring at him, the full weight of the young hunter's eyes begging him to fulfil his request.

"Bring him back."

"Who Dean? Didn't my girl send you flowers? Dean's dead. He ain't coming back. His soul's downstairs doing the hellfire rumba as we speak," and this time the words are true, completely true. He is not going to give Sam the time to ask some more, to make empty promises that Gabriel knows he will not be able to keep. He paints false sympathy on his face and continues. "It's too late, Sam, Dean's _gone_ and _I'm_ not the one who can bring him back to you. It's gone too far now, anyway and it's in someone else's hand. Get on with your life, find yourself a girl, get a job," he knows that telling Sam all of this is pointless, that the hunter will not listen. "Enjoy your life while you can. Better, I'll _give_ you a girl. What would you like? Blonde? Or brunette?"

"You can't just _bribe_ me into forgetting about my brother!" Sam strides forward and grabs the archangel's jacket in his hands, yanking on him to bring him flush against him so that he can stare down into the face of his tormentor. From this angle, Gabriel can understand why so many people find him intimidating. "_Give him back._"

"No can do, Sam, not now. Grow up, get over it and _learn the lesson_," because even if the lesson here is that this is going to be Sam's life now, Gabriel cannot resist making the point.

"Lesson?" The hunter's grip slackens and the archangel wriggles free, taking a moment to straighten himself up and regain a touch of his dignity, a dignity that always seems to suffer when a Winchester is involved.

"This obsession to save Dean? The way you two keep sacrificing yourselves for each other? Nothing good comes out of it. Just blood and pain. Dean's your weakness. And the bad guys know it, too. It's gonna be the death of you, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta let people go."

"I can't," Sam whispers, "I can't, he's my brother, I can't." If Gabriel were not so intent on breaking the hunter, on pushing him close enough to the edge that he will say yes to Lucifer in a little over two years, he would actually feel sorry for the kid.

"It's over, Sam, this is it, this is your life," the words are more comforting than he intends them to be, but he knows that the hunter is going to need this. "If you're lucky, certain associates of mine will make sure that you see Dean again one day. You'll just have to pray _extra_ hard for it."

"I _will_ kill you," the hunter's voice breaks but there is a steal in his voice that cuts through even the tears that stain his cheeks now.

"You're welcome to _try_, but I don't think you have the juice." He mimes looking at a watch. "Well this has been fun, but I'm getting bored of going in circles. Have a nice life, Sam," he is gone even as the raw fury passes across the only living Winchester's face, transporting himself to a hill top just outside the town where Hecate is waiting for him.

"How did it go?" She asks, her eyes a dark brown now that she has to blend more with the people around her rather than display her power to the moonlight and darkness.

"He's going to kill me," Gabriel shrugs.

"_Brilliant_," she raises her eyebrow, "now I have to protect my asset."

"Not that I don't appreciate it, but _why_?" He really does not want to persuade Hecate _not_ to keep an eye on his back, the last thing that he needs to do is come down with a bad case of dead any time soon.

"You can't repay a debt if you don't have a _life_, Gabriel, and I collect on my debts." She stares at him for a long moment. "Don't go and get yourself killed before I get back," she hisses and is gone, though Gabriel has no idea where that might be to. He has the patience to wait ten minutes before he is off to continue with his own good works until fate manages to take her course.

_So do we think it's worth continuing? Answers on a review!_

_Artemis_


	2. Jus In Belo

_So when I started this chapter I was worried that the direction I was going to take it at the end was going to be a little bit of a stretch, baring the mind that every time I watch this episode my brain tells me something else happens to make me feel better about it. Then I watched it really closely and I realised that my brain has lied to me all this time. It was not as much of a stretch as I thought._

Chapter Two: Jus In Bello.

It is two weeks since Gabriel told Sam that he could not bring Dean back from Hell and so far Hecate is relieved to find that the former archangel has been lying low and not doing anything at all which might give the Winchester boy a clue to his whereabouts. Normally the health of an angel, even one so powerful as an archangel, would be fairly low on the goddess's list of priorities. This one, however, owes her several favours and she has no intention of letting him get wiped out before she can collect. Not that she needs anything from him right now though.

At the moment she is pondering the Winchester boy as he sleeps fitfully in yet another run down motel room surrounded by research and trickster lore. One of these days, she knows that he will figure it out, one of these days he will realise that the creature he is so eager to kill is not a god at all. That will be a very bad day, for everyone. It pains her slightly, to see one who is so close to being one of her own this way, obsessed with revenge and cut off from all who care about him. She has existed for a long time, almost as long as humanity itself and she has studied it in a way that the angels have not, she has come to understand them a little.

Humans are social creatures, she knows, in ways which many of the so called pagan gods are not, certainly humans have thrown them together into various collections, pantheons as they are known now, but they are not truly social. Sam needs people, needs the connection, because he needs someone to help him to control his anger, help him keep a handle on the rage that fills him, because that anger is what drives him to do foolish things, like try to kill archangels or ally himself with demons.

Hecate was not always just a goddess of witchcraft, she still is not even if most humans have forgotten, she was also a protector, a guardian, against spirits and demons and the things that went bump in the night. In her opinion, that makes her the first hunter and that means all who followed from that belong to her, even now. Which means that all hunters are of interest to her and while she knows what has happened to Dean is absolutely necessary if she is regain that which was rightfully hers, it does not mean that she is completely unaffected by it. Dean was one of her own, after all, and he was a good hunter at that. It is only right that she should now take an interest in Sam.

If she keeps telling herself that, she will come to believe it enough to hide the true reason.

There is, however, another watching Sam and this presence is not one that she likes the feel of. She recognises it, however, on the fringes and she goes to it, staying out of sight and hidden from perception. It is in a blonde woman, face almost blank as she stares at window of Sam's room, as though she is waiting for the right moment to go inside. That moment, Hecate knows, is not this one. She also knows the corrupted soul inside, both from before and after Hell, before and after she and Gabriel changed time.

"I hear you're going by 'Ruby' these days," she comments, making herself known to the demon watching Sam. "Your choice, or did you steal it off the girl you're riding?"

"Hecate," to her credit, Ruby manages to sound surprised. She also manages to recognise the goddess on sight, which is just a little bit impressive given her time in the pit.

"I think I would rather you _kneel_ while I am talking to you," Hecate responds, because impressed or not, Ruby is still a traitor and will be treated as such.

"Why should I?" The demon girl demands, tilting her chin up in her defiance, defiance which is all false.

"You lost all right to converse with me on an even standing when you sold yourself to that demon bitch, now _kneel_," this time the goddess lets the full force of her will sweep over the demon and whether she wants to or not, the girl goes down on her knees. Ruby is still defiant, however.

"She gave me _power_, more than you _ever_ would have," which is probably true, although not entirely accurate. Ruby would have been powerful, but Hecate would have made her _work_ to gain it.

"Look at you now," the goddess mocks, "you could have been the best of them, Ruby, you would have been their _queen_ and this is what you have become. You're nothing more than smoke and hate all dressed up in a _child_. Do you even remember what _love_ is?"

"What do you want?" Even though Hecate knows that her words have dealt a blow to the fragile ego of the demon, Ruby remains tenacious in her need to know the reason for the goddess's visit.

"At the moment? The same thing that Lillith does, Sam Winchester wrapped around your little fingers," the surprise on Ruby's face makes it absolutely worth the pain of having to admit that she agrees with Lillith on something. "Don't look at me like that, what kind of goddess would I be if I didn't know what you and the Hell Spawn Queen were planning?"

"I..." it is gratifying that she has managed to render the demon girl almost speechless and Hecate knows that she will value this moment.

"Of course, your major stumbling block is going to be that Sam has lost track of wanting to kill Lillith," she starts to pace, convincing Ruby to help her protect Gabriel without actually telling the demon _why_ is not going to be simple. Demons are even more suspicious than pagan's when it comes to it. "Sure, Dean's in _Hell_, but he didn't die at _her_ hands. You want him to reach his potential, you'll need to divert his attention _away_ from an associate of mine and _back_ onto her."

"How?" The flaw with Lillith's plan, Hecate muses, is that while it is a good one in principle, Sam is still a hunter. Hunters do not trust demons, although the youngest Winchester seems to be a special case there, hunters send them back to Hell.

"That's _your_ problem," she shrugs and continues nonchalantly because this _has_ to be convincing otherwise too many questions will be asked. "Personally, I could care less if the Trickster lived or died but Sam won't go after your mistress unless he has something to gain from it." Black whispers across Ruby's eyes.

"I heard a rumour," the girl mutters, voice almost a purr as she stares at her former goddess through eyes that can no longer hide what she is.

"Well, good for you," Hecate tries to brush it off, "I'm _so_ pleased that you're still able to get all the good gossip."

"_Cute_," the demon mutters, confident once more and even though Hecate knows that they need her to take control of Sam she wishes that she could burn her out of the body she has stolen. "This rumour was about your Trickster friend. I heard that he isn't really one at all. _I_ hear that he's an angel." Ruby is smirking, she seems to think that she has control of the situation and that annoys Hecate. The demon appears to abruptly remember that pagan gods are quick to anger because she backs down almost as soon as the words are out of her mouth, as though she expects to be destroyed where she kneels common goal or not. Instead, Hecate forces herself to laugh.

"_Now_ you're just being ridiculous," and unfortunately absolutely right. "Angels only associate with _my_ kind for the same reasons that they do _yours_, Ruby, to _kill_ us. Go and do your _job_, demon, and stopping sticking your nose into places that it doesn't belong." She brushes her fingers across Ruby's blonde hair, the gentleness of the action a marked contrast to the annoyance in her tone. "You wasted your soul, child. You could have been magnificent."

The sarcastic and slightly caustic tone of the maiden and crone is replaced by the loving one of the mother, the aspect of herself that Hecate rarely finds a need to display. In the time of her creation the aspect of the maiden was the most popular form, by the middle ages the crone gained more respect. By the time she reached the modern day, the easiest way to gain followers was as the maiden again and it is a form that she prefers. Sometimes she misses being able to use the gentle form of the mother, mostly because it allows her to show the more caring side to her that is otherwise ignored. It is gone almost as soon as it appears.

"Leave," she orders and sees the demon girl get to her feet and depart before she turns her attention to Sam's motel room window. The boy has a great destiny, one that he will fight at every turn. She hopes that the experiences he will gain in the coming months without Dean will be enough to make him change him mind. Which reminds her that she has something else to do and somewhere else to be.

SPN

Sam's plan is really quite simple when it gets right down to it. Find Bela, get the Colt. Find the Trickster, shoot him _using_ the colt. Simple, effective, because that gun is supposed to kill everything, he sees no reason why it should not work on a pagan god as well as it works on a demon. There is only one way to find out whether this is true and that lies in catching up with the woman who stole it in the first place so that he can get it back.

He has managed to track her down to Monument, Colorado, an achievement in itself given that Bela is so good at covering her tracks. So when he breaks into her motel room to find it empty he brands himself an idiot for not considering the possibility that she might have seen him coming. So when the room telephone rings it is almost the icing on the cake to hear that she is already two states away and completely prepared for him.

What is perhaps _more _humiliating is the ease with which Henrickson and his team managed to apprehend him. How quickly he goes down even when he really does not care particularly about living or dying, is just as embarrassing. Being marched to a cell in chains does not really even compare as he thinks of how Dean would look at the pretty nervous girl fingering her rosary as he walks by, thinks about how Dean would have a smart mouthed response to the gloating and the taunts, the nerves displayed by everyone who is not Henrickson and now he has to listen to the man gloat as he languishes in a cell and waits.

Lobster or steak, surf and turf, a celebration and Sam can see nothing to celebrate in a future where he is locked up awaiting trial and execution, a future where he cannot go after the Trickster, cannot try again to save Dean. He _has_ to save his brother, Dean saved his life and Sam has _nothing_ else, no one else. So he does not rise to Henrickson, even when he makes jibes about his dad but when the agent turns his attention to _Dean_, Sam cannot stay quiet any longer.

"You know, I used to think your _brother_ was the most crazy one of the two of you," Henrickson comments, hands in his pocket and contemplative, _satisfied_ smile on his face. "I mean your dad, he brainwashed him real well. But _you_, Sam, the last eight months Dean's got _nothing_ on you. That massacre in Austin, the three dead bodies you left in Death Valley, that's more Dean than you and makes me wonder about some of the things he did. Makes me wonder if maybe he's been covering for you and your dad his whole life."

"Shut up," Sam hisses, nostrils flaring and eyes half wild with the desire to throw himself at the bars and to drag the agent through them.

"Be enough to drive anyone crazy, enough to make anyone believe he was taking on monsters."

"You don't know a damn thing," he snaps, trying so hard to control his rage that he is actually trembling with it.

"I know enough, Sam. I know you're going to sit in solitary until you're tried I know that once we get you on that chopper you're never going to see sunlight as a free man again and I know that when they find you guilty the price will be the highest you can pay." Light floods through the tiny cell window and the hunter looks towards it as he hears the rotating blades of the helicopter outside. Then the hunter watches as Henrickson leaves, bounce in his step and smile on his face and desperation claws at Sam.

He _has_ to get out of here.

He is still seething over Henrickson's smug words when his attention is grabbed by the entrance of a another man in a suit entering the cells. Sam is on the alert before the suit glances around and slides the door closed before coming to stand in front of him.

"Sam Winchester," the guy grins. "I'm Deputy Director Steven Groves. This _is_ a pleasure." Sam grunts, barely able to bring himself to respond to the man and it is not because he does not care about what the man has to say but more because he has other more important things on his mind at the moment. "I've been waiting a long time for you to come out of the woodwork."

There is the flash of a gun muzzle and the muffled sound of a silenced shot ask Sam ducks to one side, feeling the burn of the bullet grazing his right arm as he does and he mumbles a curse as he dives for Groves. The gun goes off and he does not waste the time trying to keep track of the shots, more interested in making sure that one of them does not go through anything immediately vital. When Groves eyes go black, however, Sam knows that strength alone is not going to solve this and he launches into the exorcism that he learnt because he has been caught out too many times.

The demon vacates the building and everything turns into noise and chaos. By the time Sam is alone again, the sleeve of his jacket is wet with blood and his arm feels heavy with the pain. This is not what he needs right now and he needs it even less when Henrickson confronts him again, accuses _Sam's_ friends of doing this. Truth is, the lights are out, demons are on the way and Sam could care less what Henrickson thinks of him and his friends so long as they all get out of here.

"Just, please, just let me out so I can help you," he tells the other man. He wants to escape but he also knows it will be far harder if he is surrounded by demons. Henrickson is not so convinced.

"From what?" He demands, waving his side arm a little. "You going to say demons? Don't you _dare_ say demons. Let me tell you something, you should be a lot more scared of me." Sam is not afraid of Henrickson, because he has seen bigger and far worse things in his time. He _is_, however, still bleeding and he needs to do something about that, needs to protect himself and when he spots Nancy staring at him he thinks he might have solved that problem.

He is not sure why she agrees to help him, is not sure if it is because of the amount of blood that is staining his jacket or the fact that no matter the level of his grief and rage he is still able to make a face sad enough to convince her to do as he asks. A few screams, a brief struggle and yet another gun pointed at him and Sam has what he needs. Now all he has to do is wait.

It does not take as long as he thinks it will for one of the demons to approach him and he is even less surprised to find it in Henrickson, if it was going to be any of these people it was going to be him. Taking out said demon without getting himself shot again is a little more hair raising, made up of adrenaline and hurried words and the careful positioning of himself around the struggling body of the FBI agent that makes the Deputy Sheriff nervous in case _he_ kills Henrickson instead.

Exorcising the FBI agent has one good outcome, he is released from his chains and allowed to do his job. Trouble is that by this point it is too late and all he can do is let Nancy patch him up while Henrickson copies devils traps at the doors and Amici salts the entrances. A trip to the car for supplies and the realisation of just how many demons are after him and Sam is left wondering why the pattern of behaviour has changed, wondering if this has something to do with the demon Ruby mentioned, with Lillith.

Breaking glass interrupts the brief conversation that he manages with Henrickson, the one that tells Sam that the man could have made a hunter in another life and in a way he is grateful for it, pleased that the intrusion prevents him from making that very suggestion to the other man. It is Ruby and Sam does not think that he has ever been so relieved to see a person in his life, even if it _is_ a demon.

"We'll need the Colt," she tells him, no preamble other than to tell them that there's thirty demons out there and Sam's guess about the big boss is spot on. "Where's the Colt?" She demands when he is silent for longer than she finds acceptable.

"It's got stolen," he admits, looking away so that he does not have to see the anger on her face.

"I'm sorry, I must have _blood_ in my ear," her words cause a collective flinch to spread around the room. "I thought I just heard you say that you were stupid enough to let the Colt get grabbed out of you thick, clumsy, idiotic hands. Fantastic," she gets to her feet and paces, agitated and Sam feels a twinge of guilt. "This is just peachy."

"Ruby," he wants to explain to her but he knows that there are no words to really make this right after all she did to help them get it working again.

"Shut up," there is an awkward silence as she thinks. "Fine, since I don't see that there's any other option, there's one other way I know of to get you out of here alive. A spell, one that'll vaporise every demon in a mile radius. Myself included." She marches back to him and stares up at him. "So you let the Colt out of your sight and now _I_ have to die. Next time, be more careful."

"What do we need to do?" Henrickson asks, obviously willing to buy into this for now.

"You? Nothing," she looks at Nancy. "_You_, on the other hand. Spell calls for a virgin." The girl blushes and looks away as Sam gets a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"What can I do?" He has to admire the way that Nancy ignores the stares.

"You can hold still while I cut your heart out of your chest."

"What?" Nancy's exclamation chaos breaks loose as everybody has their say in Nancy's future and their own and all the while Sam stands and he watches, he listens as they argue and he listens when Nancy says that she is going to do this whether the others want her to or not. When Henrickson tries to stop Ruby from taking the girl into the office and going to prepare, Sam knocks him out. The others go silent very quickly after that.

"You sure this is going to work?" He asks Ruby as he helps her paint the symbols she needs on the wall. Her nod is curt. "Look, for what's it worth, I'm sorry." Nancy is praying in the corner as he talks, her lips moving rapidly and the words stumbling from her lips at a pace he cannot keep up with.

"Forget it, Sam," she mutters, voice tinged with resignation and the rest is done in silence.

The hunter stays in the room when Ruby begins the spell, holds Nancy when she begins to struggle as the blade touches her and flinches when she screams. When those turn into nothing more than a hushed gurgle and finally the arch of her back as she dies, he forces himself to remember that this is not only saving his life and the lives of the others here, but of the thirty people outside. Ruby looks at him once before she completes the ceremony, eyes clearly showing that she does not want to die, and then she plunges the ceremonial blade she is using into Nancy's heart.

Even Sam is taken off his feet by the shockwave that goes out around them and from outside he can hear the abrupt cut off of a collective scream as thirty demons are destroyed. He lies there for a long moment getting his breath back before it occurs to him that he should think about moving, that maybe he should get out of here before Amici gets up the nerve to confront him and Henrickson wakes up. Ruby groans behind him, opening eyes that are completely black and her face confused.

"What the hell?" He asks and she shakes her head. A glance out of the window tells him that the other demons are down and that there will be time enough for questions later, they need to get out of here before someone tries to stop them. He pulls Ruby to her feet, ignoring her whimper as he does, and helps her out of the building. He does not look back.

SPN

The garrisons of Heaven have not been so busy since the war with the Morning Star, Castiel has not seen such activity in far too long. Their orders are to prepare their vessels, that if this first wave of soldiers fails to reach the Righteous Man in Hell he will break and the Apocalypse will begin.

Castiel promises himself that if _this_ wave fails, he will be in the next one and he _will_ succeed. He hopes that if his does, he will be permitted a glimpse of the face of his Father.

_So this went strange places, but let me know what you think!_

_Artemis  
_


	3. No Rest For The Wicked

_Alright, I think it's fair to warn everyone: I've decided that there _is_ going to be a pairing and that eventually this is going to be Dean/Castiel. I'm sorry, but I know myself too well and I can't help but write it whenever I get the chance. Plus, I absolutely love it. So anyway, warnings aside, we move along._

No Rest For The Wicked.

Sam is not happy. Actually, not happy is probably not quite the way to describe his mood right now. He is angry, but he is always angry these days, he is confused and he is worried, because Ruby should be dead, just like all those demons were, and he knows that Henrickson is not going to walk away from this without wanting to catch him, without wanting to stop Sam from hurting more people. If he is honest, he knows that maybe allowing Ruby to kill Nancy without thinking of another plan was not the best idea, but what is done is done and he cannot go back and change it so he has to live with it. He is not proud of his actions, but at the end of it all he managed to save the majority of the people in the town and if that means that he had to do something monstrous to achieve it, he cannot really bring himself to care overly.

His greater concern at the moment is the demon who has been avoiding him the last couple of weeks, the demon who by her own admission should be dead. It makes Sam uneasy. So he summons her, the ritual is in his father's journal after all, determined to get his answers from her.

"Hey, Sam. How's tricks?" He looks at the door of the old barn, surprised to see her there so fast and angry that she looks so well recovered when she should be dead. The unfairness of his situation strikes him, that Ruby should survive something that should have killed her when Dean got struck down before his time. "So, you called?"

"How did you do it?" He asks and she stares at him, confused.

"Gonna need a tiny bit more," she tells him.

"_Survive_, Ruby! All that talk about you _dying_ and all I had to do was carry you out of there."

"I'm hurt, Sam, _really_ hurt, I didn't expect you to actually be_ pleased_ I was alive and everything but you could at least pretend you were." She begins to walk around him and Sam gets the impression that she is sizing him up for something. "Besides, I'm as confused about it as you are."

"Maybe the spell just didn't do what you thought it did, maybe you _lied_ about killing those demons." Sam snaps, spinning around so that he can follow her movements.

"No, Hecate's spells always do what they say they will. This is..." she trails off mid explanation, and Sam thinks that she has developed a suspicion of her own about the whole thing. "Anyway, that's not important right now. What's important is Lillith."

"I don't care about Lillith, I don't need your help with Lillith, I need you to help me find the Trickster." Sam shakes his head, this is what he's been wanting to ask her assistance in for a long time and she is just as fixated on the new big bad boss as she has been the last few times he has seen her since Monument.

"You don't really think she's going to leave you alone do you?" Ruby laughs at him. "_Please_, Sam, she wants your intestines on a stick, you really don't think that she's just going to ignore the fact that you walked out of her little trap with only a bullet wound, do you? She's going to come after you again."

"Doesn't matter, she's not important." Sam insists and Ruby gives him a strange look.

"You've really got it in for this Trickster god don't you?" Her voice softens as she says it. "Look, I was hardly Dean's biggest fan but I get why you want revenge. The Trickster's a _god_, Sam, and from the stories I've heard he's a very cunning one. The usual methods aren't going to work against him if the rumours I've heard are true. You're going to need something special and the only way to get that is to go after Lillith first. You take her out, you're ready to go up against a 'god'."

"What makes her so special?"

"She stands to become even more powerful than old Yellow Eyes himself and she's going to be far more of a challenge. Now's a good time though, her guard is down."

"Is that so?" He cannot help but feel that he is being manipulated here, that Ruby wants something more from him than just killing Lillith.

"She's on shore-leave, a little R and R, trust me, you don't want to know what that entails," Ruby is still looking him over, blue eyes calculating.

"So give me your knife, tell me where she is and I'll take care of it," he promises, the sooner he can get this sorted, the sooner he can go back to his real problem.

"You wanna charge in with one little pigsticker? It's a waste of a true-blue window. Like getting Hitler with that exploding briefcase. Forget it," she shakes her head at him.

"Then how?" He is becoming more and more agitated as the conversation continues, more and more aware of the fact that demons lie and they manipulate to get what they want and he should not be allies with one. Except that there is something here that makes him want to, something here that makes him need to because he cannot go after the Trickster alone and Bobby refuses to help him with that particular quest anymore than he already has.

"Sam, you've got some God-given talent. Well, not "God"-given but you get the jist."

"All that psychic crap? That's gone ever since Yellow-eyes died."

"Not gone, dormant. And not just visions either. Why do you think Lilith is so scared of you?"

"Right... she's scared of me."

"If you wanted, you could wipe her off the map without moving a muscle," Ruby shrugs at him and even though Sam does not want to believe her, Lillith _has_ to have a good reason for coming after him this aggressively.

"And you decided to tell me this just now?" He demands instead, because if he could take care of Lillith this way, he could have avoided having to help Ruby kill Nancy.

"Uhm.. Demon. Manipulative's kinda in the job description. Fact is, is that you would have never concidered it. Not until you were-"

"Desperate enough?" He interrupts, he can already see where this is going, but if Ruby is right and he _does_ have some kind of power that would level the playing field with a demon, it might just take him that little bit closer to being able to stand toe to toe with the Trickster and after their last encounter he needs the boost.

"Look, I know you don't like being different. You hated the way Dean looked at you sometimes. Like you're some kind of sideshow freak. But suck it up because we've got a lot of ground to cover, and we've gotta do it fast. But we can do it." Sam stays silent, because she has really hit the nail on the head and while it has been easier without Dean acting the way that he did, he is still very aware of the fact that he is not quite right, not quite _human_. "Look. Call me a bitch, hate me all you want, but I have never lied to you Sam. Not ever. And I'm telling you, you can do this, you can kill Lillith and when you do we'll know that you're ready to take on a Trickster god."

He takes a moment longer to think then nods.

"What do I need to do?"

SPN

"So," Gabriel appears on the hill behind Hecate in a rustle of feathers, detectable by the goddess simply because she knows what he is and she is the one who hid him in the first place, "would you like to explain to me why you protected a demon from one of your own spells?" Hecate snorts and raises an eyebrow at him, looking out over the lake in front of them.

"I don't have to explain anything to you, Gabriel, you know that."

"Humour me," he flops down into the grass besides her, the lights of a nearby town winking at them over the water. "Why change the habit of an existence? Why help a demon?"

"Even _you_ should know the identity of that demon," she snaps. "Without her, Sam doesn't open the door and there isn't time for Lillith to find another demon to seduce him." Gabriel can tell that there is more to this than the goddess is willing to admit and he suspects that it has to do with Ruby being an apostate of hers. The goddess has always taken defection hard and for her to see the results of it in this way has to be difficult for her.

"I didn't realise she was one of yours," he responds.

"She isn't, not anymore," she settles next to him. "I don't want to talk about this anymore, angel." There is a long moment of silence.

"The first wave failed," Gabriel mutters then and she looks at him sharply.

"Castiel's the second isn't he?" She responds and the archangel nods. "I thought you didn't want him to be the one to find Dean?"

"I didn't," he pulls a face, "sometimes Fate just won't be messed with."

"She's a tenacious bitch, I'll give you that," Hecate murmurs. "Do you think she has a reason Castiel is going to be the one to save Dean for a second time? What's the likelihood of it?"

"Slim," Gabriel answers. "She has something to do with it and I nearly got caught just finding out that the first wave fell just inside the gates."

"You need to be more careful," his words remind Hecate of something. "Ruby's heard a rumour about you and it's only a matter of time before she passes it on to Sam, and then not much longer before he meets someone who can tell him the significance of, who will then pass it on to your brothers. Then where will you be?" Gabriel hesistates.

"I _am_ careful," he insists.

"Then try _harder_." She insists. "Don't make me have to take steps and don't give me anything else to regret. Gods aren't _meant_ to regret." He continues to stare where she was stood for a long moment after she vanishes.

"Nor are angels," he whispers and turns his face back to the stars.

SPN

The first wave of angels failed. Castiel is not really surprised by this and nor is he surprised when Zachariah comes to him and tells him that they are going to try something new, that they are going to send him in while his brothers and sisters attack the gates of Hell and draw the attention of the forces of demons away while he, _Castiel_, goes to find the soul of Dean Winchester.

"The seal is already broken," Zachariah says, "I do not know what you will find when you encounter the Winchester boy, be prepared for him to resist."

"Why would any resist an opportunity to be raised from Perdition?" He asks and later on he knows that he will curse his foolish naivety.

"Sometimes they enjoy what they become, Castiel," his superior explains and gives him a parting instruction before leaving Castiel to prepare.

It does not take the angel long to reach the gates of Hell, does not take him long to slip through the ranks of angels and demons falling on each other and tearing into each other with millennia of pent up frustrations and anger. It saddens him to see his brethren falling so, to see them destroying themselves for such anger and hatred.

He is not a fool, he knows that he was chosen for this not because of his prowess in the field, but because of all them his grace burns the dimmest, his power the least and though it will be enough to restore the body of one human man with little difficulty, it is the darker light that he burns with that allows him to make his way past demons and fallen angels alike. For the first time in his existence, Castiel discovers what it is to hurt. He dislikes the sensation and understands, now, why so many would break so easily if only to be free of it.

Finding Dean takes time, time that the angel feels he does not have, and given the amount of time that the man has been down here, ninety hellish years, the angel is not sure what he will find. What he finds is something dark, black, twisted, something close to the edge of turning from tortured soul to demon and he knows that he needs to get this man out, needs to return him to Earth and burn the blackness from him.

Dean screams when Castiel grips him tight, he screams and he fights the angel with every fibre of his being. It takes Castiel a long moment to realise that Dean is not fighting because he likes his work or because he wants to stay, Dean is fighting to remain in Hell because he does not think that he deserves to be free. It saddens Castiel and he files it away as something to examine later.

His immediate concern is burning through the blackness that coats the soul in his grasp, in getting them both out of the gate and back to Earth where he can begin to reconstruct Dean as much as possible. It is painstaking work and the howls of the soul that he holds so tightly tear through him with the same kind of agony that the atmosphere of Hell caused him as he searched for this man. The agony that he is causing Dean in ripping away the darkness of Hell is nothing to the sheer torture that the soul puts itself through as it reminds itself of all the things that it did as Dean Winchester to all of the damned who passed by it's rack.

He resolves to be the one to ask to be Dean's contact, he resolves to be the one to act as messenger.

SPN

They have been training for days and Sam is becoming impatient. He knows that he is not ready to go after Lillith, but everything that Ruby is putting him through is burning through him, leaving him exhausted and frustrated and another million steps behind the Trickster. So he calls Bobby, asks him to track down the demon that wants him dead so badly and decides to take the knife and go after her. Bobby is not happy with the idea, wants to help Sam fight her, but he agrees to give the only surviving Winchester Lillith's whereabouts.

Ruby stops him at the door.

"You're not ready."

"Get out of my way, Ruby," he hisses, pressing the knife to her neck and watching as the smallest line of blood, a trickle, eases out from under the knife. He is tired of this, tired of being hunted, tired of grieving, tired of always being so far behind the Trickster. He wants his brother back, he wants this to end, he wants Ruby to stop patronising him and let him fight this battle his way. Ruby is a demon, she understands force and that is what he is going to use.

"Fine," she takes a breath and her throat moves against the knife, a fresh trail of blood blooming there as she hisses. He withdraws and she moves to one side, hand coming up to trail a finger through the crimson at her throat and as she looks at it something flashes through blue eyes.

When she darts forward he thinks for a long moment that she is going to hit him, or knock him out or do any one of a number of things but she does not. Instead she knocks the knife from his hand and presses him against the wall, bloodied fingers trailing along the pale column of her throat once more and then pressing into his mouth and filling his senses with the acrid taste of copper and iron and sulphur. He swallows reflexively, even though he knows that he should not and his vision swims a little.

"Now you get back in there, and you focus and you take out that son of a bitch before you even _think_ of going after Lillith with that knife."

What really scares him is that he does as he is told, he goes back into the room, puts out his hand and he focuses. It is not easy, pulling the demon from the body, and his head hurts with the effort, but somehow he manages what he did not before. He manages to tear the creature out and even though the host dies, it is something of an achievement.

"See, you can do it, you just need a little boost," she tells him as he slides to his knees, vision greying out at the edges.

"It's wrong, Ruby," he grinds out.

"You want to beat Lillith don't you? Want to go after that Trickster. I got plenty more where that came from, Sam. We do this right and we can win, isn't that all that matters?" He would answer, except that he is too busy passing out and the last thing that he sees is Ruby smirking down at him.

_Artemis_


	4. Lazarus Rising

_I'm either mad or on fire, but either way I'm a machine who has managed to post way too much in the last few days. It is totally unintentional and I can promise you that it won't continue, although with another Hellatus coming up there isn't going to be a whole lot else to do I suppose. _

Lazarus Rising.

Screams surround him, they are in him, on him, his own, others, filling his mind with an endless and terrifying cacophony. In all of it there is light, there is the sound of a voice that is at once soothing and terrible and he wants and he needs and it is all out of reach, a memory or a dream or a desperate wish of an escape that he would never deserve.

The sounds fade, change, push back and away from an awareness that is changing, moving, developing into something other than the strange _other_ sensation that a soul experiences, deep, cutting, pain and emotion like he never knew when he had flesh and blood. It is muffled and muted, changed by blackness and stale air and the burn of lungs that are being filled for the first time in existence and yet not the first. It is a paradox, painful, new and out of the reach of his understanding.

His hands are groping blindly, searching for that which he knows is there, for a source of light and of answers. He finds it, new fingers closing over metal that is cool against the fresh heat of his flesh, not yet warmed by the sudden return of life and his digits, unused to obeying commands and functioning, fumble before they finally manage to produce that flicker of flame that lights this dark and airless world. A coffin.

"Help," voice hoarse, disused, never used, broken and tearing a hoarse cough from his lungs as he calls for help again and again, hand pounding on the lid of his prison as his mind races with the panic brought from knowing that he is trapped underground as dirt trickles and then crashes down upon him.

It is moments but it is forever as he pushes and fights his way out of the ground, stiffling, suffocating, crushing and when he is free he falls onto the grass, breathes clean air that tastes of trees and ash and sunlight instead of decay. He basks in the warmth of the sun and lets it sooth his still troubled mind and when he is ready, he gets to his feet and looks around him.

Apparently a small bomb went off in the neighbourhood. All around him trees are flattened and he is being watched, can feel eyes heavy upon him and it makes the hackles on his neck rise. He needs to find civilisation, needs to find friends, needs to find _Sam_. He needs to find himself and remember who he is and he lets the heat of the sun and the light of the day burn the last lingering remains of screams and agony from his mind as he walks and he searches.

By the time he reaches the abandoned gas station he is more thirsty than he has ever been in his life, which is saying something given that he is not sure whether _before_ Hell should qualify in that statement or not. If it _does_ qualify then this is to be expected, if it _does not_ on the other had then it is truthfully a little pathetic. He does not care and is shattering glass and making his way inside without thought or care so long as he finds food and water. A phone and a way to get to his family come somewhat _after_ that.

The first thing he does is drain a bottle of water right off the bat, cool, soothing and so badly needed after a long walk. His eyes fall on the newspapers still in the window even though this place has obviously been abandoned for hours, maybe even days and he has to wonder why that is. Still, he needs to know how long he was down there, how long _really_ because even though it felt like an eternity, _was_ an eternity, he has to know if time down there moves in the same way as time up here does. Looking at the date, time downstairs apparently moves faster and he feels his world lurch sideways a little when he realises that all of those years, all of those _decades_ only really added up to ten months.

_Sam_ has been without him for ten months. The need to find his brother once again becomes all the more urgent. Dirt still clings to him, however, dirt mixed with the sweat and grime of a long walk and he just needs to freshen up a little before he does anything else. A quick exploration of the building reveals a grimy bathroom and sink and he takes a moment to wash his face, scrub wet hands through his hair to dislodge the worst of the mud that clings to him, the dirt of his own grave.

He shudders a little at the thought and then rubs a hand lightly over the tight black of his t-shirt, fingers probing and prodding as he remembers the sudden shock of the bullet striking his chest. Curiosity wins out and he lifts the soft fabric so that he can look, can see the smooth skin of his chest and not even the scars of bullet wounds and ancient jobs remain. The only real blemish is the tattoo that still stands black and stark over his heart. There _was_ a flash of pain, however, on his arm and though he does not remember injuring it he rolls the sleeve that covers the left arm up.

He finds a hand print, raised, burnt, raw and angry looking, branding him for all to see and he sucks in a breath as he covers it, his gut twisting with nerves and dread and he cannot look at it anymore, cannot face the memories of light and safe and _love_ that comes with it. He forces his focus away, forces himself to think about what he should be doing, to leave the room and grab a bag which he then fills with the essentials, water, candy, Bust Asian Beauties. Next is the cash register, old and easily opened, he fills his pockets with all the change that he can because he knows that he will need it until he can get a couple of new fake credit cards sorted.

He cannot be sure if it is an attack or not when the television buzzes or the radio turns itself on, part of him almost _wants_ it to be an attack so that he can get answers, so that he can find out how he got out of Hell, _what_ pulled him out of the pit. Painfully aware that it could be demons, Dean does all that he can to protect himself on the short notice that he has been given, which is why it comes as such a shock when a sound pitched to shatter glass fills his ears. It is only a minute, a _long_ minute, and then the sound is gone, replaced by eery silence and Dean wants nothing more than to get out of there, now, before whatever it is comes back.

First he needs to use a phone.

He tries Sam first and is not surprised that the number he memorised eleven months ago has been disconnected. After that he goes to Bobby, because his home number never changes. He is hurt, if unsurprised, that Bobby does not believe that it is him, does not believe that he has been raised from Hell and that the old hunter would threaten him. He does the next best thing, he hot wires the first car he finds and he _drives._

SPN

Hecate is hunting when Gabriel finds her this time, and she always did look good in a hunting tunic with a bow and her dogs at her side. He grins and then shakes his head at the thought. He has been a pagan for far too long and he lets the image slide from his mind as soon as it appears, he'll spend some quality time with his girls later. They are somewhere in Africa, Gabriel does not really care about the exact location, and Hecate is calmly skinning the carcass of a gazelle, dogs sat in a large circle around her watching and waiting for their reward.

"There was a time when this would have been done _for_ me," she comments, turning the obsidian blade in her hand ever so slightly. "My children of modern times are so much more squeamish." Gabriel does not really have a response for that and she smirks over her shoulder at him. "What news?"

"Dean Winchester is saved," he mutters sardonically.

"And what condition is his soul in?" Hecate tosses a leg to her hounds, smiles at the way that they yip and wag their tails before falling on the fresh meat. Gabriel looks away, he is no stranger to blood, but it has always been in the heat of a battle, in the smiting of the unrighteous and he is aware that even the role of a trickster god was chosen for him so that he could do what he was created for.

"I haven't seen it, Castiel's barely left his side," which really does puzzle Gabriel, this devotion to the human that the seraph has developed for a second time. Hecate rolls her eyes at him. "You told me to be careful," he reminds her.

"I _felt_ the seal break, it wasn't like that the first time." A haunch is removed with a few deft cuts and slices, this one thrown to a lion that waits in the tall grass.

"Things change," Gabriel shrugs, "this time you knew it was coming." He is trying to sound nonchalant about it but deep down he is worried, because he felt the seal break the first time, he felt it break this time, but the pagans, the pagans should not have known anything about it until the angels chose to share. Hecate was taken by surprise the first time, she found out because she came across Castiel and Uriel attempting to prevent the breaking of a seal, one that unleashed a very serious rival of hers. She had not been happy and she had vented that displeasure loudly and viciously.

"Not this sort of thing," she shakes her head. "Gabriel, if you've made me a bigger part of this," she stops, slashes at the carcass again and another slab of meat is fed to the surrounding carnivorous wildlife.

"I haven't," he promises, and this is about the most truthful he is ever going to be with her. Hecate is no more involved in this now than she was the first time. The one thing that Gabriel needs her to do is to help him ensure that things go their way and he cannot do that with a demon attached to one brother and an angel to the other. "I need you to keep an eye on Dean," he tells her.

"No more favours," she snaps, putting her fingers to her mouth and licking the blood away from them delicately. Gabriel shudders at that. "I am not going to put myself in that kind of position, Castiel still belongs to Zachariah." She thinks for a moment. "Although playing with him would be fun," she muses.

"I'm not going to argue with that," Gabriel responds because he is the only one who has actually managed it and he remembers that moment with some fondness.

"Makes a nice change," she mumbles. "You're fairly useless, you know," she tells him after a moments silence and a snap of her fingers as she cleans herself up, "I mean, what use is an archangel who owes me so many favours when he can't even spy on his own people?" Gabriel does not answer, just raises an eyebrow and glares. She rolls her eyes at him again. "Fine, lets see how good a job Castiel did on Dean Winchester's grubby little soul."

The former archangel is not sure if he is happy or concerned about her cooperation, only knows that he is worried about the emotions being evoked within him at all.

SPN

When it gets right down to it, Dean's reunion with Bobby does not go quite as well as he had hoped that it would. Then again, he has been dead for ten months, in reality he does not think he should have expected the old hunter to react in any other way. He does, however, relearn a valuable lesson. He relearns that it does not do to upset Bobby, for he has many sharp and pointy objects and few qualms about attempting to stick them into the people he believes deserve it. Up until the moment Dean was able to prove he was himself, the oldest Winchester son fell into that catagory.

It is a relief to know that is no longer the case.

His reunion with Sam goes, if possible, even worse. He had expected Bobby to be suspicious, to try and stick things in him even, but _Sam_? On one hand, he had thought that turning up with Bobby in tow would have been enough to convince his brother that this was the real him, the him that had died in a parking lot ten months ago and he is trying so hard not to think of that as a century in Hell because those memories need to stay locked quite safely where they are. On the other hand, and there _is_ one of those in this argument, the only person he and Bobby can both think of who is obsessive enough to find a way to pull getting him out of the pit off, would be Sam, the man that Bobby is currently restraining as he tries to shove a silver knife in Dean's throat. In all honesty Dean is already getting tired of people trying to stick things in him.

Bobby manages to talk Sam down and the brothers stare at each other for a long moment before catching each other in a rough hug. Still, Dean cannot help but feel an apprehension in all of this and it is not helped by the presence of a fourth person in the room.

"So you really managed to get out," Ruby hisses and she has not even bothered to change her meat suit in the almost year since Dean saw her. She does not stick around, much to the hunter's relief, just grabs her jacket from the back of a chair and glares at Sam for a long moment. "Don't forget those demons are still in town," she reminds him a little spitefully. "I'll leave you to the family reunion."

"You still hanging out with her?" Dean demands as soon as Ruby is out the door and he is a little saddened by how quickly all of this is turning into a fight.

"It's not like that, Dean, I was passing through and Ruby came to warn me, that's all," Dean wants to believe him, wants to believe the earnest expression in Sam's eyesbut he cannot help that cold curling in his gut that tells him that something here is wrong, something is so far from right with Sam and he wishes he knew what it was.

"Alright, Sammy," he nods instead and lets the matter drop, sees Bobby eye him suspiciously but let the matter go and Dean does not want this to turn into a fight on his first day out of Hell, but he needs to get answers and Sam may be the only one to have them.

"How did you do it?" Sam asks. "How did you get out?"

"Like you didn't do this?" Dean snaps and Sam shakes his head.

"I tried _everything_, okay? I tried the Trickster, I tried the Devil's Gate. Hell, Dean I tried to bargain but no demon would deal, all right? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, all right? Dean, I'm sorry," there is a moment of awkward silence.

"Don't get me wrong," Bobby says finally, "I'm gladdened that Sam's soul remains intact, but it does leave us with a sticky question."

"If Sam didn't pull me out, then what did?" Dean finishes for him.

SPN

Sam Winchester has seen a great many things in his life ranging from the usual, to the strange to the down right bizarre. He has seen horrors and evils that most people could never have imagined because he has spent his whole life hunting monsters, demons and things that go bump in the night. He had thought that there was nothing left in the supernatural world that could truly shock him. Turns out that he was wrong because even with all of the horrific things he has _seen_ it is the very fact that it is something _unseen_ that burnt out Pamela's eyes that scares him.

It is because of that incident that he wants information, he _needs_ information, and he promises himself that the demons from the diner earlier in the day are going to be the ones to give it to him one way or the other. He would feel more comfortable about going in if Ruby were with him as back up, if he had not had to lie to Dean almost as soon as he got his brother back so that he could do this. Ruby is out of contact, however, and Dean is out of the question since he has no idea of the things that Sam is now capable of and no real capacity to understand them. Sam does not really want him to _make _that discovery either so he chooses to go it alone.

His conversation with the demon goes about as well as he expected it to, better if he were to count the fact that all but one have been killed and the eyes of their meat suits burnt out in a manner horrifyingly similar to Pamela. Something _big_ this way comes and whatever it is, it is enough to frighten a demon. That in itself is cause for concern.

He sends her back to Hell and then spares a thought for the woman she possessed. It is almost a relief when he realises that she is dead.

"Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time," Ruby saunters out of the kitchen, her face showing that she is just as troubled by the demon's words as Sam is.

"What the hell is going on around here, Ruby?" He does not expect her to know, does not expect a helpful answer, but part of him is really hoping for it all the same.

"I wish I knew," she shrugs, making her way to a nearby table and stepping around the corpses like they somehow offend her. "I can tell you that it wasn't a demon though. Human souls don't just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It's cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody. I've never seen anything that could do this." He joins her.

"So what now?" He asks.

"I don't know. We wait and see what they throw at us I guess," and given that Ruby has apparently always had a plan up until this point, Sam is not entirely reassured by her words. "My main concern is Dean."

"_Dean_?" Ruby has never exactly been his brother's biggest fan, in fact Sam would not be at all surprised if she had cheered upon discovering that he had died, but he finds it a little worrying that his recently resurrected brother is at the fore of her mind.

"You going to tell him what we've been doing?" She presses and he understands.

"Yeah, I just gotta figure out the right way to say it," Ruby stares at him. "I just need time."

"He'll find out eventually and if it's from anyone but you, he's going to be pissed."

"I know, I'll tell him, but this psychic stuff... he'll be pissed anyway," he shrugs.

"We're not going to be able to do what we need to with him around, Sam," there is a weight to her words. "I know you just got him back, but maybe you should stay on your own path."

SPN

Castiel is well aware that he should not have revealed himself to the demons who taunted Dean Winchester. He is also well aware that the angelic involvement with the hunter is supposed to be kept as quiet as possible until the last moment. He _deserves_ to be reprimanded but that does not mean that he would not do it again.

Part of it is down to simple frustration and confusion, both are emotions that he has never experienced before and that very fact is increasing the intensity of them. Dean is the Righteous Man, Castiel, himself, held him and returned him to light, life and glory, rebuilt him from dirt and bone. The man _should_ be able to hear the angel's true voice, should be able to perceive his true visage. Instead the hunter cowered in confusion and fear and that had _hurt_ in a way that Castiel had been shocked by. To a degree, attacking the demons had alleviated that.

The other part of it is also tied to the fact that Castiel remade Dean, because the angel feels that it almost makes the human _his_. It is a dangerous thought and one that he hopes no one in the Host manages to pick up on. One of the demons threatened Dean and destroying it became his sole focus in going into that diner. Once they were dealt with, however, he had another task, the chore of locating and taking his vessel.

Being confined in something so small is disconcerting, even though it is necessary so that he can move unfettered on this Earth and converse with Dean. The human needs to hear his orders, but the angel is reluctant to approach at this time, with the vessel so new and the memory of the psychic still fresh in the minds of all. When the hunter _calls_, however, he cannot stay away.

The air of the barn is thick with protective warding and sigils, and he thanks his Father that there is no Enochian wards among them, the two men inside armed to the teeth and all around him light bulbs are exploding and guns are being fired. At the expression in Dean's eyes, Castiel realises that the hunter does not remember him, does not remember the moment that stretched as an eternity even in the blink of an eye as he wrapped a broken soul in grace and returned it to the beauty of his Father's creation. He supposes that it is too much for the human mind to comprehend as he pulls the iron blade from his chest and turns to subdue Dean's companion, studying the older man for a moment until turning his attention away.

Even time spent entangled with this mortal soul, understanding Dean's scepticism because the man has seen nothing in his life to make him believe that such a thing as an angel exists, Castiel realises that he does not understand the man at all, cannot understand the man. Dean is a mass of waring contradictions, relieved to be saved, convinced that he does not deserve it. Wanting good things to happen but always waiting for the other shoe to drop. A humourous voice to cover a heart broken by years chasing evil, cynical and yet wanting to see the innocence and naivety of the world continue because no one should have to see the things that he has. Not even the shadow of Castiel's wings, a proof that it is exhausting for him to provide, can help to calm the confusion that the angel finds with.

"Why would an _angel_ rescue me from Hell?" Dean demands and Castiel can admit that the man's cynicism is warranted in this case.

"Because God commanded it, because we have work for you," and somehow, Castiel cannot help but feel satisfied by the shocked awe that appears on Dean's face for just a moment.

_Artemis_


	5. Are You There, God, It's Me

_I'm afraid this one is a little shorter than the others. I've got a plan for the next one though and it's going to contain one of the scenes that I've had written since I started this. I just need to introduce a couple of other people first. I'm really starting to get a lot of people to keep track of now!_

Are You There God, It's Me, Dean Winchester.

Victor Henrickson always thought that vampires could be taken out by stakes to the heart, that they were afraid of crosses. Apparently, an awful lot of people have been wrong over the years and the former FBI agent is staring at a particularly annoyed vampire, a gaping hole in her t-shirt where she has pulled out the stake he used and a full set of fangs covering her human teeth. This is going to be his death, he realises, and his regret is that he did not call Sarah and tell her that he was sorry for the way their marriage ended. He does not even care that he never caught up with Sam Winchester, or that he lost his job because he walked out of that police station in Monument and did not look back. His only regret is the most recent exwife that he could not really give up on.

So when the vampire's head flies off with the sickening crunch of metal through flesh and bone and the spatter of dead blood, he has to flinch away in surprise.

"Dammit, this was my favourite shirt," a woman mutters and looks at him past the now permanently dead body. Her short chestnut hair is stuck up at odd angles and she is breathing heavily. Behind her Henrikson can see the bodies of the other vampire females that she evidently took by surprise while they were distracted with him. "I should kill you too," she tells him, grey eyes carrying that same age and hardness that the agent has seen in the eyes of Sam and Dean Winchester, "I mean, God only knows how long those leeches were holding you."

"I'm not a threat," he grinds out, struggling to his feet and feeling the pull of bruised ribs.

"No, you're worse," she shakes her head, "you're an amateur. Which makes you _my_ problem."

"Who are you?" He demands as she bends to clean the machete on the shirt of the dead former woman.

"Name's Dom, that's all you need to know. We need to get moving before somebody finds this." She is walking away and is nearly at the door before she turns to look at him. "Are you coming?" She asks and there is nothing else he can do but follow. As she passes one of the smaller females she mutters again. "So much for being extinct, damn vampires."

Her car has clearly seen better days, battered and dented with patches of rust showing through faded red paint. It is a startling contrast to the sleek black of the Winchester Impala. He hesitates and she throws him a look before rolling her eyes, getting in and starting the engine. Apparently she is all too willing to leave him and since his car has been abandoned on the road somewhere after the vampires grabbed him he has little choice but to fling himself in as she begins to move away.

The drive is taken in silence, Henrickson is not sure whether he should thank her for saving his life but he _is_ fairly certain that if he did she would not appreciate it. They stop next to his BMW, black sleek and everything that one would expect for an FBI agent. She is unimpressed by it.

"Get your things, we need to get out of town," she orders. "That wasn't _all _of the vampires, idiot," she snaps when he stares at her questioningly, "the rest of the nest will come after us and I'm not cold enough that I'll leave an amateur to fend for himself."

"We could take my car," he does not add that he would feel safer if he were the one driving, if they were in a car less than twenty years old and with significantly less rust. She stares at him for a long moment.

"It would take too long to transfer everything, and this is not a discussion. You've got five minutes and then I'm moving on without you."

"I thought you said you weren't cold enough to leave me on my own," he jibes, suddenly hit with the realisation that this is a person who can understand, this is someone that he can spend time with a feel a little less lonely with for a while.

"I'm not, but I'm not stupid enough to risk my life either. Four minutes," harsh grey eyes stare at him and he does as she asks. He does not do it just because he is lonely, he does it because he needs to learn if he is going to survive long enough to achieve his goal, if he is to learn the habits of hunters so that he can find a way to get to Sam Winchester and find a way to stop before he hurts too many others. He goes with the woman who calls her self Dom because she can teach him at least a little before she abandons him by the road side once more.

It takes a moment to gather his things, to remove what traces of himself that he can from the car in the few minutes he has been given. All he has in the world is the clothes in the small duffle he picked up from a good will store not long after he made the choice to vanish. Credit cards are a thing of memory and the substantial amount of cash that emptied his accounts of nearly four months ago has whittled down to almost nothing. He needs the help, needs the push, because the Winchesters have relied on crime for much of their lives to survive and he has a feeling that he is going to have to do that same thing if he is to survive and he is not entirely sure he can do that.

He does know that Dom can teach him _how_ to become that person and that is why he follows. Later that night he wonders why he made that choice. They go to a nothing little motel and she takes the time to give him a once over, clean the injuries he sustained and laugh when he asks if they should consider a hospital. All in all, it is uncomfortable.

Dom's cell phone rings as she is cleaning an old sawn off, cloth spread over her bed and littered with parts and tools. The same as her car seems to fade into the background, her clothes and hair cut, her ring tone is simply a generic sound and it is almost as though she fears displaying any form of personality that could point people towards her.

"Talk to me Bobby," she says as she answers and sits bolt upright after only a moment, eyes darting rapidly and the blood draining from her face. "You're sure?" She questions and he frowns, setting aside his own weapon he frowns and begins to stand. Dom holds up a hand, a silent gesture for him to stay where he is. "What do I need to do?"

Once she has listened she sets the phone to one side and is silent for a long and awkward moment, then she grabs a pad and pen off the night stand, scrawling a number on the top sheet and tearing it off. "You need to do exactly what I tell you, and only what I tell you," there is a note to her voice, the same deadly serious one she used when she had told him she should kill him.

"And if I don't?" He asks, both because he can and he will challenge her and because he does not trust her in the slightest.

"Then we're _both_ dead," her voice is a low hiss as she reassembles the shotgun using familiar, practised, movements. "If I'm killed, you take this number and you call it. You tell him what happened and he'll help you. He'll, but he'll help you." She hands him the peace of paper and then the rest of the evening is lost in a flurry of preparations that he barely understands and she hardly takes a moment to explain. By the time the ghosts arrive, he does not think he can process much more new information anyway.

SPN

Dean supposes that he should have known that his luck could only have held out for so long, and given that he has never had any kind of luck anyway what he had was more than he could ever have expected. An _angel_ pulled him from Hell, airlifted him out and stuck him into a body that is at once the same and yet totally different.

The body is his, the same face, green eyes and dirty blonde hair, same height difference between him and Sam, same slightly bowed legs. It is the differences that bug him the most, the way that his insides turn at the thought of the angel, of _Castiel_, staring up at him with stolen blue eyes, the lack of callouses on his hands and feet, the absence of the odd aches and pains of old breaks that did not quite heal right, the smoothness of his skin and the _newness_ of himself. He feels _wrong_ and he does not know how to make things the way that they once were.

Sam is different, so different now, the whole time that he had held onto hope in Hell he had hoped that Sam would be the one to pull him out, the one to never stop looking. Except that Sam stopped, Sam changed and Sam is not talking about what he did in those ten months, that century, that Dean was in Hell. The elder hunter knows he did _something_, the ghost of the woman he rock salted in the bathroom last night tells him that much.

Bobby does not know what it was, and he was not all that eager to talk about the two girls who had gone after him. Now they are all in the panic room together, Bobby is researching while the brothers put together cartridges of rock salt for the battle ahead.

This comes at the worst possible time, not that there would ever be a good time to be attacked by angry ghosts in this way, because even though he has managed to get through the last few days, has managed to put on a brave face and act like the thought of an angel pulling him out is what is bothering him, the truth of it is that the angel is the least of his worries. Right now his main concern is that his memories of Hell, memories that were mostly buried, are beginning to surface and he does not know what to do. He is hiding it, thinks he might be doing a fairly good job of it, but he knows that he cannot continue to do so for much longer.

A part of him wants to put a voice to all of the horrors he saw, experienced, inflicted, another part wants it all to stay pushed as far down inside as humanly possible, forever out of reach and mind and thought, forever forgotten, forever only terrifying hints. The way that he barely manages to stop himself from flinching at the hulking form of his brother behind him is enough to tell him that he is not ever going to be able to put this behind him. He does not think that he can continue to hide from the memories for much longer.

Being raised out of Hell _should _have been a good thing, he muses as he gathers shotgun and ammunition, it should have been a reward for a life spent sacrificed to the hunt, to saving people and hunting evil. It could have been an apology from God, if such a being exists, for putting his entire existence through things that no human should have to go through. He has spent three days waiting for the other shoe to drop and it has fallen with a resounding clang. He cannot say that he is overly surprised by that.

On some level, he knows that this is all his fault, that something he did in Hell has made this possible, and he did _a lot_ downstairs, a hundred years is a long time after all.

Most of all, what he wants is to tell all the ghosts after them that he knows, he understands what they have gone through. _Sam_ was supposed to save _him_, after all, he suffered for ninety years for everything he caused Ronald and Meg and a dozen others to go through because he could not get there fast enough, could not save them. He does not think about the ten years _after_ the first ninety, the things that he did and what he became. _They_ know, however, he knows that they do, and they resent that he was rescued, that he was released when they were left to suffer with all of the terrible things that he permitted himself to do.

Dean resents it too, though he will not admit it in front of Sam, because he knows what he did even though the details of it are still fuzzy, though mercifully obscure. He knows that he did not deserve to be saved, that Hell has turned him into something dark and terrible and it burns just below the surface, so far out of reach and yet so close and he does not know how long he can hide it for, how long he can fight the memories for. He _does_ know that he does not want Sam to see any hint of it and he needs to find a way to push his baby brother away.

It breaks his heart, even as he fires a shot at some unknown woman who has blood on her chest and nothing but hate for Sam, another story that his brother refuses to share and if Dean is honest he is glad of that, because he does not want to know and he does not care to ask. It is simply that he knows he spent all of this time trying to get back to his brother, only to have to leave to protect him from the monster Dean became.

He fires another shot and resolutely ignores the thought that this might be the last time he does this with Sam.

SPN

Castiel is annoyed, or at least that is what he believes the emotion he is experiencing is. He does not like the sensation though he understands why such feelings have been seeping in over the last three days. He has been to Hell, pulled out a soul and cleansed it, put the body back together and bound that soul within, it is understandable that he would be affected.

The last few days he has been fighting for a seal, watching as his brethren are cut down around him and all because Dean Winchester clambered off the rack in Hell and picked up a knife. Castiel has _felt_ Hell, on one level he can empathise with Dean's decision, on another he wants to shake the man and demand to know what gave him the right. He already knows the answer, knows that it was fated, that it was foretold, and he honestly believes that his place is at Dean's side. He believes that he should be guiding Dean, guarding him from the threat that these spirits will present to him. After all, he did not travel through Hell to reach the man only to lose him at the second seal.

It is not his place, however, to question the orders that he has been given. His place is only to follow them and despite the niggling emotions and the hint of doubt that is slowly creeping in, Castiel obeys though it goes against all of his instincts. His instincts where Dean is concerned are born, not out of an understanding of human nature, but of the fact that he held Dean's soul in his hands and however brief a time that may have been it is enough to tell the angel that the hunter will not be happy when Castiel shows up and all is revealed to him.

There _are_ things that must be kept from the man, the darkness within him runs too deep, to heated, to risk triggering it. The nature of the first seal is one such piece of information and something in the angel knows that keeping such from the man will only end badly. He also has to hide the reality of Dean's future, his destiny, as the Righteous Man.

Upon hearing of him, Castiel had always believed that he would be a man of light and brilliance, pure, faithful to the Father and His Word, able to _see_ him and _hear_ him without the need for the angel to take a vessel. Dean Winchester is the furthest from that image, the furthest from that ideal, that Castiel could ever envision. The angel is not sure how to handle this man who is the perfect example of almost pure sin.

Dean feels, and often acts upon, lust, gluttony, pride, envy, wrath, vanity, he is greedy, slothful, every major sin and many of the minor ones and Castiel finds him frustrating. He finds that the hunter gets under the skin of the vessel and touches at a part of him that draws reactions that angel is not accustomed to and he finds himself rising to Dean's word, his taunts and his jibes about the incompetence of his brethren.

"We tried. And there are other battles, other seals. Some we'll win,some we'll lose. This one we lost. Our numbers are not unlimited. Six of my brothers died in the field this week. You think the armies of heaven Should just follow you around?" He conveniently ignores the fact that he has been considering doing that very thing himself. "There's a bigger picture here. You should show me some respect," he gets close to Dean, so close that he can feel terrified breaths on his face, can feel the slow struggle and uncoiling of the creature he locked away beneath grace and humanity returned, an instinct trained into him after decades of torture. "I dragged you out of hell. I can throw you back in."

He moves away, before the urge to sooth the fear and panic from Dean's soul becomes overwhelming, is out of Dean's mind and in solitude for long enough to compose himself. He has no intention of sending Dean back to Hell, the hunter has to know that he did not go through all of the trouble to pull him out only to chuck him back. He needs Dean to fear it, however, because fear is what drives Dean, fear is what makes him fight and the angel _needs_ Dean to fight.

_And now we have only fic to get us through another Hellatus. _

_Artemis  
_


	6. It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

_Ok, so I'm not going to cover every episode with a chapter, mostly because sometimes there is simply nothing to change and others because there is too little to drag it out. In The Beginning happened as it always did, as did Metamorphasis to a degree. This one turned into a mamoth piece of writing, I'm not entirely sure why, and certain characters would not cooperate no matter how hard I beat them, so I let them have their way. Also quite happy with this one since the opening scene is one of the few that I've had planned from the beginning, which means that I have gotten rid of it and can move on to other scenes I want to write!_

It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester.

Dean and Sam separated not long after the older brother found out about Sam's powers. The younger brother is just relieved that he has not found out about the whole blood sucking thing. He has a feeling that Dean will eventually forgive him for the using his 'gifts' but if he were to ever find out about drinking Ruby's blood Sam has the feeling that he would most likely kill them both. He hooked up with Ruby not long after Dean drove away and she is the one who has brought him here, on this case where a man has choked on razor blades and the young Winchester knows that his brother is going to be here any day now. It is Dean's kind of case, or it was before Hell. Still, he has a job that he has to do, a witch to stop, and Ruby is willing to go along with it all for now. They went to interview the widow together, it did not go as well as Sam had hoped it would.

When they get back to the motel Sam knows that something is wrong before he even opens the door because Ruby stops outside and her smile falls from her face as black rushes across her eyes and she hisses a curse. The hunter can see why when he opens the door. There is a woman in the room, leant against the bathroom wall, her red black hair caught up intricately in a mass of silver chains and her floor length black dress cut in a simple empire line. He would think her pretty, were it not for the fact that her nose is maybe a little too big for her face and her eyes, which are almost the same colour as her hair, carry a hint of madness.

He has his gun raised and trained on her before he even takes a moment to think, response trained into him after so many years on the road hunting evil. She smirks at him and raises an eyebrow before turning unconcerned eyes onto Ruby. She does not look a day older than Sam, but the power that rushes over him in the moment that she meets demonic eyes tells him that this is nothing like he has ever encountered before. It is probably more surprising the way that Ruby drops to her knees like she cannot quite control herself.

"Well?" The woman says and her voice is tight, gravelly. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

"Yes, Goddess," Ruby murmurs and Sam frowns at them both, confused, alarmed, because for a moment he had been half convinced that he was dealing with an angel. "Sam, this is Hecate," and he has to admit to himself that she was not at all what he was expecting, the very fact that he did not think she even existed does not even factor into it at this point.

"Hello, Sam," she offers her hand to him and he takes it, lingering uncertainly for a second and dropping his gaze to Ruby who mimes kissing the back of it as surreptitiously as she can. He presses suddenly dry lips to skin that seems too warm and crackles with energy. Her attention is completely on him as she steps around his demon companion and touches her other hand to his chin, running gentle fingers along his jaw. "You truly are a beautiful creation," she mutters and he hears Ruby make a squarking sound before the pagan goddess makes a hard gesture and the demon goes silent, eyes blazing defiantly up and Hecate laughs.

"What do you want?" Sam asks and he doubts that Ruby knows the answer either.

"To look at you, my gorgeous disciple," her words make something in his gut go tight, and he feels his head jerk with his bafflement. "I came with a warning, I came to tell you to get out of town."

"Why? Because you don't want your witch to die?" He demands, the scarlet of rage falling over his eyes.

"She's not one of mine, Sam, she's barely even one of Lillith's," her lips twitch in a smirk. "That witch belongs to Samhain and while there are a number of seals that I wouldn't mind being broken, I could do without one of my most dangerous rivals walking the Earth."

"We can stop her," Sam insists.

"No, you can't. She's far too old, far too strong. You're going to leave town and let me handle it," she responds, taking a step away from him and drawing herself upright, even though this has little effect on her height in comparison to Sam. Were the conversation not so tense, he would take a moment to marvel at the fact that this goddess has chosen to continue appearing so much shorter than him, so much smaller than even Ruby, and the body that contains the demon cannot be termed tall.

"Why do you care?" He demands, trying to resist the urge to take a step away from her, especially given that his experiences with pagans gods thus far have not exactly been the kind to endear them to him in anyway, nor does he really believe that they can possibly ever have his best interests at heart.

"Sam," Ruby holds a warning in her voice and he thinks he knows what it means, it is the kind of warning that clearly says 'don't even think about talking her out of helping us, and don't ask questions that you won't like the answers too'. He pushes anyway.

"Because no matter what you may think or hope, no matter what you may believe and what your family has taught you to believe, you are _mine_, Sam Winchester, as all hunters are, and I will not allow such a one as you to come to harm in this place." Ruby snorts behind her and the pagan goddess turns her attention to the demon. "You are _not_ one of mine, however, and should you continue to push in this manner, I will have little choice but to kill you. I think I'll take a great deal of pleasure in it too."

"Why haven't you ever helped us before?" Sam demands, all of the times when he and Dean came so close to death, all of the injuries and the impossible odds, the enemies that they never stood a chance against, those endless Tuesdays watching Dean die and the terrible months after while Dean was in Hell.

"It was not permitted. I may not like the rules, but I make sure that I obey them," she smiles at him. "Anyway, do you really think that the Trickster could have approached you without my permission?" She questions and Sam knows that her insinuation is a false one. "I am allowed to interfere now and better yet, even your brother's pet angel will not dare to lay a stolen finger on me. I feel more powerful than I have in years."

"Because Samhain is going to rise?"

"No," her laughter does not fill Sam with any form of confidence. "Because I'm going to stop him and all of his people will be mine." There is a madness in her eyes now, one that is all the more evident when she raises a hand and he finds himself almost incapable of movement, staring as she bites hard enough into the flesh of her own finger to draw blood and then reaches up to paint a design on his forehead. For a brief moment she presses her lips against his and this touch he _does_ shy away from, and then she is gone and he and Ruby are alone.

He cannot deny that he is relieved.

Ruby is apparently no less shaken and it is then that he realises that the reason that the demon was not killed by the spell she used Nancy to perform was the woman who just pulled her disappearing act. The thought process is making his head hurt as he realises that there is a whole lot more to all of this than he had originally thought. He cannot help but suspect that they are being played, and that the ones doing the manipulating are not the suspects who were originally at the top of his list. He shares a long glance with Ruby before they both nod. Neither one of them is leaving town.

This, of course, could be a problem when Sam realises that the car that just pulled into the parking lot has the same distinctive, noisy, engine as his brother's car. A glance out of the window confirms his suspicions. Dean is in town.

SPN

Castiel knows that Dean and Sam separated not long after the older brother discovered some of the young hunter's nocturnal activities. The angel is honestly surprised that the demon has managed to hold Sam's focus on Lillith even after Dean has been raised from darkness. It makes him wonder if there is some method that he can use to hold Dean's focus in a similar way. From the words of his superiors he does not think that will happen.

The two brothers are working apart, taking different jobs, and yet somehow both have managed to fall into this one. Castiel did not even realise that Sam Winchester was here until he saw him exiting his motel room with the demon in tow. From Dean's black mood when he returns to his room not half an hour later, the angel can tell that the hunter is just as surprised to see his sibling and just as reluctant to leave. This will make the angel's difficult job more so, particularly with Uriel at his back.

"Cas," again the hunter hisses that ridiculous moniker, though this time the angel can recognise the annoyance in his voice. "Who's he?" Castiel ignores the question for the moment, the time will come to reveal Uriel's identity and he has more pressing matters at hand.

"Dean, have you located the witch?" He demands, power cracking the vessel's voice, bringing it down to a pitch that it was never made to reach and he feels the soul squirm uncomfortably within. The hunter jerks but for some reason does not question how Castiel knows what he is hunting.

"Yes, I've found the witch," which may be true but the angel suspects that the hunter had help in this, that Sam has been sharing information and they have been working together a little, however reluctantly. He breathes a thought of gratitude to his Father that he has not yet had to meet the boy-with-the-demon-blood because he is not certain that he would be able to meet him in good faith, to offer him the gentle greeting that he knows that Dean will expect.

"Have you killed her?" He demands. There is a pause.

"No," Dean replies and there is something there, just on the tip of his tongue that the angel knows that the hunter wants to add and is too afraid to put a voice to. "But I do know who it is." He finishes after a moment, the confrontation gone from his tone as he begins to realise that there is more to this than he had first thought.

"Apparently, she knows who you are as well," Castiel holds up a hex bag and sees Dean visibly wince, "undoubtably were I to search Sam's room I would find another."

"We're working on it," Dean says, finally admitting that he is working with his brother and the demon to a degree. Castiel is not eager to see the hunter working with a demon, either of them when it gets down to it, and there is a hostility in Dean's eyes that cuts at him. Castiel is not one given to idle hope, few angels are, but he had hoped that by pulling the man out of Hell, Dean's soul would feel the same draw to him as he does to it. The man is incredibly frustrating.

"That is unfortunate." He meets Dean's gaze, locking eyes with him once again and trying to peer into his soul. Suddenly, the fact that his brother is there to witness his unseemly behaviour does not worry him so much as it once did. "The raising of Samhain is one of the 66 seals, it must be prevented from breaking at all costs."

"So tell me where the witch is, I'll gank her, seal saved," the words are false bravado and there is something there, simmering beneath the surface of Dean's eyes, somehow Castiel gets the impression that this is not exactly new information to the hunter. Someone got here first, he can almost feel the taint of it upon Dean, the taint of something that is not so ancient as he, but not new, not young, either. It is troubling and he will have to look into it when he is done here.

"We are not omniscient, this witch is very powerful and has cloaked herself to our methods," he confesses and he finds that it causes him pain to do so, to tell the hunter something that may make the man think less of him.

"Alright, well we know who she is, we'll find her..."

"Enough!" Uriel's patience has been stretched enough for one day it would seem and Castiel tears his gaze away from the body he wrought from decay to look at his brother, one who has been cast from favour for transgressions unmentioned.

"Okay," Dean hisses, brushing past Castiel and the angel wants no more than to reach out and grasp the sleeve of the hunter's old leather jacket, to pull him away from the threat that the more powerful brother represents. "Who are you and why should I care?" Uriel looks at Dean, almost as though he is sizing the human up, which is likely, and there is a sensation of mockery from him, of disbelief that _this_ is the one who has been chosen to lead them in the war against Lillith, a war to save ancient and damaged seals.

"This is Uriel, he's what you might call a... specialist," and there is no way that Castiel could have expected Dean to like the sound of that, there was never a chance that the hunter's hackles would not be brought up by the superiority in Uriel's gaze and smugness that is painted across his face. Uriel was ever able to display emotion to a greater degree than his brethren and far greater than Castiel. The angel envies that. "You need to leave this town immediately," he orders instead, using his words to break Dean's focus on the other angel because that is a fight that Dean cannot win and Castiel does not relish the idea of having to plunge into Hell once more to drag Dean out again. "Take Sam and leave."

"What are you going to do?" Dean demands and if Castiel had thought that his cryptic response about Uriel's nature had not gone down all that well, telling the man that they are going to smite the whole town goes even worse. In all honesty, Castiel truly regrets that it has come to this and he knows that he did not expect Dean to understand. There is no _time_, however, the witch is too close to completing her task and he cannot make Dean understand that.

The passion that Dean exhibits when he insists that he be given the chance to save the town anyway is inspiring and even if Castiel did _not_ have orders to obey him, he would have done so purely for that reason. It is something that he knows that Uriel has picked up on. Orders, however, are orders and Castiel has something else that he now needs to look into and a brother that he needs to ensure is still intending to obey his _true_ instructions. He stares intently at Dean once more.

"I suggest you move quickly," he orders and both he and Uriel are gone. The specialist, and he is a little surprised by how appropriate that description is, goes his own way, Castiel makes his way to Sam Winchester's room.

The feeling of wrong is stronger in here, and it is not just the blackness that the demon leaves in her wake, this is something else, something older than the one that Dean called Ruby. This is a feeling of blood and madness and he knows of only one breed of creature that leaves such easily detected markers in their wake. Castiel has not come up against a pagan god in a long time, he wonders how the centuries without worship will have treated it.

Unfortunately the pagan he comes across is Hecate.

To the best of the angel's knowledge, and he has quite and extensive resource at his fingertips, no one has seen her in nearly two thousand years. That she has come out of hiding now is _not_ a good thing. He recognises the red black magic that seems to swim around her, magic that is the colour of blood and death and terror, just as she was when she was worshipped with sacrifice. Her smile is a bright and terrible chill.

"Have you come to kill me, Seraph?" She asks him and there is no fear in her voice as her fingers run through her long hair and her eyes dance over his vessel.

"What do you want with the Winchesters?" He demands.

"I'm not here for them, I'm here for Samhain," candid, more open a response than he had expected to receive but there is still a madness to the air that the angel does not like, a bloodlust that is hard to ignore and buzzes all around her. It makes the borrowed flesh of his vessel crawl. He has her pressed against a nearby pine tree before she can move, his hand outstretched and eyes crinkled with the effort that it takes to overpower one such as Hecate.

"Then why visit Sam?" He asks, the first tendrils of confusion wrapping around him and beginning to mingle with the doubt that has begun to plague him.

"Because your kind will not," she does not struggle against him, she is stronger than she should be, probably due to the recent increase in unknowing followers and the claim she has always staked on hunters. "Because he is one of _mine _and I have to protect all that I have, all that _you_ stole from me!" Wrath, he knows, is something that the pagans all have in abundance, quick to flare up, slow to die, and he frowns at the assertion that she makes, the one that lays claim to Sam, and therefore Dean, because it makes something possessive flare up in him. He put Dean back together, Dean is his.

Later he will beg forgiveness for that moment of weakness, as he will continue to do so in the future every time such a thought crosses his mind. For now he returns his attention to the pagan who appears to have the audacity to be smirking at him.

The thing about Hecate, and he is very loathe to admit this, in fact he will be careful that word of it never reaches his superiors, is that she actually _does_ have a legitimate claim on the hunters as her own. She was the first of them after all. Times change, however, for a time hunters were men of the church, an army unleashed from the Vatican itself, and now hunters belong to no one. Given the chance and the right equipment many would not hesitate to destroy her themselves. He suspects that the only reason Sam did not was that he did not have what he needed. Perhaps this encounter will be enough to convince the younger Winchester that it would be wise to be prepared for all things.

"Are you going to destroy me, or think me into oblivion?" She demands and he knows that he has been silent too long. There is a twist of pain to her voice, however, and he knows that it is the sap of the pine burning into her skin, or the facsimile of flesh that she wears for the benefit of humanity as a whole. "Because whichever you're going to do, can you _please_ get on with it. Otherwise I have something a lot more pressing that I have to accomplish."

"Tell me where I can find her," he demands, twisting the wrist of his borrowed body and anchoring her more firmly against the bark. She makes a strange high pitched nose, one that is primal, guttural and yet very feminine, though that is only the form that she is chosen, she no more has a sex than he.

"Find who?" He does not know if that is genuine confusion or if she is deliberately obstructing him, so he answers her anyway.

"The witch."

"I don't know," he squeezes a little tighter and her fingers scrabble against the bark. He should kill her, he knows, she should not be permitted to continue living and drawing worship as a false idol from his Father. "Honestly, she isn't one of mine, she never was. I can't find her, Castiel. Please," her black red eyes go wide. "_Please_." It is the sound of his name that causes him to drop her. Castiel has always been an angel of peace, he quite often abhors the need to raise arms against another, although demons are always the exception to that rule, and so he releases the pagan from his hold.

"I only came here for Samhain," she whispers as she stumbles, "I swear to you, meeting Sam was a bonus."

"Come near either of the Winchester boys again," he gets close to her, close enough to tower over her and look down upon her, letting his grace wash over her so that she can feel his might, "and I will ensure that you demise is a slow one." She nods and vanishes as soon as he relaxes his grip on her.

He sways in the sunlight for a moment, feeling the drain now that he is not fighting to ensure Hecate did not escape. She is certainly one of the stronger pagans still in existence and he wonders if it would not have been prudent to track them all down and wipe them out centuries ago so that they could not be given the opportunity to side with Lucifer as his superiors have always implied that they would. Something about this meeting makes him linger on that thought. Hecate has no interest in Samhain rising, she wants him stopped as much as the angels do. She visited with Sam and yet she did nothing to harm him.

Something is not right and it causes doubt to uncoil ever closer to the surface.

SPN

Working with Sam again feels good, even though Dean knows that after tonight they will go their separate ways again, because the older hunter cannot bare to see his brother using the strange abilities that he some how gained control of while Dean was in Hell. It breaks him that little bit more to look at his brother and see that darkness he tried so hard to keep from him swirling ever deeper behind overly expressive eyes.

Then there is the nightmares. He barely sleeps any more and he knows that Sam noticed the heavy marks under his eyes, the hip flask in his jacket that does not carry holy water. When he does sleep he does not bother to remove his clothes, because he knows that as soon as he wakes he will be out of the door and down the street as soon as he can draw air into his lungs. Why waste time having to get dressed again?

When Sam smears blood onto his face to hide him from the view of Samhain, he is brought that one step closer to Hell, the sticky red that congeals there as he keeps himself still with his eyes closed and tries _so_ hard not to think about the way that it feels so familiar in a way that is horrifyingly comforting. He pushes the thought from his mind with no little effort.

At the end of it all, however, Sam is still his brother, still his flesh and blood and seeing him bleeding as he destroys Samhain is probably more painful to Dean than finding out that the kid _had_ such abilities. It is enough for him to offer Sam his place in shotgun again, which is as close to an apology as he will ever really get, as he helps Sam out of the crypt. His brother looks about ready to accept the offer but Ruby is standing by the car at the gate, leaning like she does not have a care in the world and using a knife to pick under her nails. At the sight of her Sam smiles sadly at him and stands a little taller, limping to the car and sparing one last look at Dean before sliding into the passenger seat and letting Ruby drive him away.

Dean gets unbelievably drunk that night.

He does not leave town straight away the next day, a combination of wanting to wallow a little in his own misery, a nasty hangover and the need to confirm to himself that the town did, indeed, survive all contributing to his reasoning behind staying. He finds himself sitting in a park, listening to the laughter of children and watching parents keeping a careful eye on their progeny. It reminds him, how ever briefly, that not everything is as bleak as he thinks it is, not everyone has had to suffer as he has since he was four years old. Hell was just the icing on the cake really.

He is aware of the angel before he turns to look at him, something deep in his soul calling out to the grace and serenity that sits on the next bench over, close enough to talk to, but far enough away that there is a barrier against any form of intimacy.

"Let me guess you're here for the, I told you so," he grunts, because what other reason could the angel possibly have for being there?

"No," the dark gravel is soothing, cool water over an angry burn and the simple, single word answer leaves Dean as curious to the motives of the powerful being as he has been since he was dragged out of the pit.

"Well, good because I'm really not that interested."

"I am not here to judge you, Dean," which is actually a surprise, because if anyone deserves to judge Dean Winchester, it should really be a servant of God, if there is such a being at all.

"Then why are you here?" It is the kind of demand that he makes when he knows that he should leave well enough alone, because he knows that Castiel is not the sort to come bearing good news, the last three meetings with him have been proof enough of that.

"Our orders..." the hunter has to stop him there, has to tell Castiel that he really does not care about his damn orders, cannot fathom what kind of benevolent God would order the massacre of an entire town even in the face of the death of billions. The angel plows on anyway. "Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do whatever you told us to do."

"Your orders were to follow my orders?" Which is a surprise, really a surprise, although not so much when he is told that it was a test, witch or no, to see if he would jump to the defence of the human race or roll over and let himself be lead. There is no way that he is going to question that, no way that he would change his mind and take it all back if Castiel were to give him the option. Sure, Samhain got loose, and Sam's still doing the thing with the demon powers, but the people that he is watching and the inhabitants of the town behind him are all there because of their efforts and he would not sacrifice that. He would not be able to live with himself if he did.

"You misunderstand me, Dean, I'm not like you think, I was praying that you would choose to save the town."

"You were?" He does not think that he can take many more surprises with this angel, although he supposes he has to be thankful that he got this one and not Uriel. There is sorrow and more pain than one man should be allowed to experience when Castiel explains his words, explains his prayers and the justification behind wanting to save the town. On the fringes of his awareness he can hear the screaming, see the blood, feel it creeping on his flesh.

"Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" The angel's words pull him back, blue eyes sharp and intent as if this action is supposed to do exactly what it has, pull him back from the brink of being overwhelmed by memories and fear. He mutters his agreement. "I'm not a…hammer as you say, I have questions, I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make, I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

There is nothing that he can say to that, though it is a relief to know that he is not the only one who doubts in all of this. He is aware that the words are meant to be a little comforting, reassuring him that the angel believes in him. Somehow, however, they are not.

_So, Cas was _not_ supposed to meet Hecate in this chapter, though it gives me something new to play with. Anyway, reviews are pretty, pretty, hellatus killing drugs!_

_Artemis  
_


	7. I Know What You Did Last Summer

_I know it's late, I'm sorry, time got away from me. So this was a flashback episode, which gave me the perfect excuse to delve into how Gabriel and Hecate made their arrangement. I like being able to explore those two a little. Also, I don't actually seriously dislike Anna, it's just that Dean is different this meeting round and I don't think he would react to her in the same way after a hundred years in Hell. I could be wrong, but heh.  
_

I Know What You Did Last Summer.

Ruby appears almost worried when she sends Sam to investigate the disappearance of a woman named Anna Milton from Connor Beverley Behavioural Medicine Centre. Saying that the normally composed demon seems worried about something is disturbing, Ruby gets mad sometimes, she is even happy on occasion, but she never worries about anyone and that includes him. She stops him from doing things because it is something stupid or that he is not ready for, but she does not worry, not normally. Apparently there is something about this Anna girl that is important and she has sent him to look into it while she follows up on another lead that it would be a very bad idea for him to get involved in.

He has learnt that quite often it is simply best not to ask.

His shock at seeing Dean at the same centre does not stem from the fact that he is there, if Ruby knows that there is something important about this girl and the demons are after her then the chances are that the angels want the same thing. He tries not to think about the implications behind that particular piece of reasoning. What surprises him is the way that Dean holds himself, almost curling away from the touch or presence of others, what is a shock is the way that his cheeks seem almost hollow and his eyes are haunted with fear, self loathing and exhaustion. Sam curses the fact that he did not think about the affect that being alone would have on his older brother.

Outwardly, Dean appears confident and self assured to those who do not know him. Sam knows his brother, however, or at least he thought that he did, and he knows that the ten months that he has spent in Hell are getting to him. Apparently, Dean lied when he told his younger brother that he did not remember Hell. It makes Sam wonder if the offer that Dean made at Hallowe'en still stands, he resolves to ask later even though he knows that it will make certain aspects of his and Ruby's plan harder. Dean needs someone to be there for him and the youngest Winchester suspects that as much as the angels dragged Dean out of Hell for a reason, they do not have his best interests at heart.

"We should work together," he tells Dean as he follows his brother from the hospital, Anna's drawings of the seals clutched in one hand.

"Where's your hell bitch?" Dean demands instead, and, sure, Sam was not expecting Dean to be exactly _happy_ that he had chosen Ruby and her plan over him, but he had hoped that his older brother would be a little happier to work with him, like the old days.

"Following another lead," he shrugs. "You need help, man," he finishes and they both know that he is not referring to the job.

"Do what you like, Sam," he mutters as he draws level with the Impala. "Work with me, work with her, I really don't care anymore."

"How did you find out about this?" Sam ignores the cold dismissal, more worried about the deadness in Dean's voice and the exhaustion in his stance. This is not the brother that he saw at Hallowe'en, that man was barely holding it together but at least he was coping. This man is something different, this man is broken and defeated and only still going because every time he falters he is given another mission by the angels.

"Cas told me," the growl of the Impala's engine is familiar, relaxing, and Sam finds that he has missed it even as he listens to Dean explain his presence. "Said that she was dangerous and we needed to find out how much she knows." Which means that there really was something in that tip off from Ruby and that his suspicions on the matter were correct, both sides want her and they are about to become caught in the middle of it, again.

Sam tags along when Dean goes to talk to the parents, which turns out to be a bust when they find them in pools of their own blood on the living room floor. It does, however, lead them to the church where Anna is hiding so it was not a total waste of time.

Finding out that everyone wants to get their hands on her because she can hear the angels talking is about as much of a surprise as Ruby being worried. So Sam can see why the demons want her, why the angels want her even, and he suspects that neither side has a good reason for it. He cannot say this in front of Anna, though, so for the moment he keeps his mouth shut and tries to reassure the girl when Ruby shows up.

"Hello, Dean," the blonde haired demon tosses her head a little, smirks at him as the hunter seems to muster up the strength to throw a glare her way. It worries Sam that Dean seems too exhausted, even, to bother with baiting Ruby when he turns his back on her instead and tells Anna that they need to get her some place safe. "Well, you're right about that," Ruby hisses, "an old friend of yours is on his way here, Dean," and Sam does _not_ like the way that she says that, "and I really don't think that you want to see him again just yet, do you?"

"You lead him to us?" Dean demands and there is anger on his face and fear in his eyes and Sam finds himself even more determined to get to the bottom of this, to find out what happened to Dean down there, to take Castiel to task for not caring about his brother's mental health.

"No, _you_ did, right from her parents house," she takes a step away and Sam knows what is coming, knows it in the way that something at his back seems to tingle and the statue with eyes that leak brilliant red blood. He grabs Anna, silently apologising because he knows that he is being rougher with her than he needs to be, and shoves her into a nearby closet, taking the silent cue from Ruby and turning to the stairs.

The man that comes through the door is evidently in his late forties to early fifties, his remaining hair greyed and his face lined. When Sam tries to pull the demon from him, he hesitates for a moment, frowns in consternation then laughs.

"That kind of tickles," he comments before making a negligent gesture with his wrist and Sam finds himself abruptly on the other side of the room as the demon approaches Dean and even through the haze of pain that always comes from being thrown down a number of steps, Sam can tell that there is definitely a history there. He wants to know more, but is far more interested in ensuring that Dean escapes. He stabs the unknown demon with Ruby's knife, watches out the corner of his eye as she drags Anna out of the room and out of the church.

Later he will make a note of the fact that jumping out of a second storey window in a church is never a good plan. Before that, however, he has to worry about telling Dean why he trusts Ruby without telling him about the whole blood thing. This is something of a rock and a hard place.

**Six Months Ago.**

Dean is dead and gone, Sam is alone, Ruby is annoyed with him. He has just allowed her to slaughter an innocent, in all senses, girl and he is driving towards his next hunt, his next attempt at getting himself killed. He may have no real desire to carry on living, but he has no wish to give up entirely until he has exhausted all methods of getting Dean back. He is almost blind drunk behind the wheel of the car, the wipers fighting against an onslaught of rain that is oddly appropriate for the job he has chosen.

This is to be his last attempt at finding a way to get Dean out of Hell before he asks Ruby to help him go after the Trickster. Demons are refusing to deal, the Trickster has said no in the most emphatic of ways and Sam is being chased, hunted, by a demon who apparently likes to wear little girls.

When he reaches the witch's cottage he is surprised by how homely it is. It is old, probably dating back to the earliest settlement of this particular no name town, with a well maintained thatched roof and a white washed exterior that would gleam in the sunlight. The garden, though filled with herbs that he knows will be used in her craft, is well maintained, with a stone path that leads to the dark wood front door. The small paned windows glow with the soft light of candles, as he had noted going through town the power has gone down, and he can smell the faintest trace of wood smoke.

The door is opened by a small woman, slender to the point of near emaciation, with brown eyes that squint up at him in the darkness and mousey hair that falls messily about her face. He is soaked nearly to the skin when she stands aside to let him in and he follows her to the front room and the warmth of a blazing fire, the flames helping the candles to cast a hazy light about the low ceilinged room. He has to duck his head a little to avoid hitting it on the beams and she smiles at that before offering him both a towel and a seat.

"Sam Winchester," she does not smile, her tone wary, she may have let him into her house, but she is a witch still and one deeply immersed in the world of hunters and being hunted. She is apparently not entirely convinced that he is not here to kill her.

"Karla," she refused to tell him her last name and he has not pressed, he needs her help and that requires being on her good side.

"I did a lot of research while you were on your way here," she tells him and he leans forward, eager, "I can't help you."

"So why didn't you call and tell me? Why make me drive all this way?" He demands, anger and alcohol clouding his mind.

"To see you, to see if was really as bad as she told me," her voice is light, soothing, "you have to let go, Sam, your brother is gone."

"No," he whispers, "he's not gone, I'll get him back."

"There _is_ no way for that to happen," she stands, her face and her eyes filled with pity. "I'm sorry, Sam, but you _must_ let go. Things look very bleak for you if you don't."

"I don't _care_ about that!" He snaps, gets to his feet and hits his head on a low hanging beam. It does not stop her from backing away. "If you can't help me get him back then help me kill the Trickster." He knows that the demand is unreasonable, but she must have something that can help him in this. Someone has to know something more that will help him to trap the creature and kill it.

"I only know what everyone else does," she responds, backing still further away from whatever it is that she sees in his face. "The only way to kill pagan gods is with an evergreen stake dipped in blood." Except that he can see that there is more there, in the way that fear fills brown eyes which dart to an old book and back.

"What do you know?" He demands and she draws herself up.

"Get out," she hisses, "just leave, don't come back." Her hands are in her pockets now and she is moving her lips rapidly, her words coming out in breathless murmurs and he can hear the odd snatch of Latin. It reminds him that she is witch, and normally he would kill a witch. This one has never been trouble, in fact she has helped more than one hunter in the past, but that piece of information is not at the fore of his mind, all he can see is that she is a witch, all he can hear is the rush of blood in his ears and the sing of alcohol and rage in his veins. He reaches for the knife that he brought with him.

"Sam, stop!" Ruby's voice rings out from the door and the witch hisses at the sight of the demon, flinching away from both of them and seeming not to know whether she should be reaching for an exorcism or finishing her spell. She goes with the spell option, neutralising the first threat as Ruby drags him from the room. He feels light headed, feels blackness creeping up on him as his stomach cramps violently and Ruby mutters under her breath.

**Four Months Ago.**

It is not about love, it is not even really about sex when it gets right down to it. Sam flops back onto the bed, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead and energy thrumming through his body. It is all about the blood, the way that it races through him and makes him feel more alive than he ever has, even before Dean died. They are on the bed because it was convenient, not because they had any plans for this to happen. Every time that Sam takes the blood from Ruby he intends to just take it, to not give in to the pure lust that it sparks in him. Every time he fails to keep that promise.

**Three Months Ago.**

Ruby has stopped him from going after Lillith more than once, but Sam is bored, frustrated and eager to get back to his primary goal, eager to go after the Trickster and end him once and for all, eager to prove to Ruby that he is as ready as he feels. He sneaks out.

One thing is abundantly clear as soon as he gets into the house. Lillith knew that he was coming. He does not know how, does not even really care, he simply knows that she knew and he has walked into a trap. He manages to exorcise two demons with his mind before the pain gets too much, before the ones in the bigger meat suits manage to get close enough to him to land a few punches. It hurts, it all hurts too much and he cannot get the concentration back to drive the one that is attacking him off, he reaches for the demon killing knife instead, only to find that it is knocked out of his hand as he is slammed up against a wall.

It is only the timely intervention of Ruby that stops this from becoming his last moment. She is less than impressed with him as she drags him to the car, tosses him onto the back seat and speeds away. He promises to wait until she tells him that he is really ready.

**Present Day.**

Dean is silent as Sam speaks, though the younger man is careful to keep mentions of demon blood out of the conversation, as he plays off the sex as elation from all the training working, as Ruby trying to show him what it is like to be alive. He knows that Dean does not buy it.

When Ruby turns up in the body of the maid, they follow her instructions and Sam does not even _try_ to fool himself into thinking that it is because Dean trusts her now. If anything, the older man is more suspicious and more interested in getting the girl _away_ from Ruby than anything else. It should not sadden him the way that it does.

SPN

**Nearly Two Thousand Years Ago.**

She is staring out at the ocean when he finally manages to track her down. Her red black hair is coiled tightly at the base of her neck and she wears a hunters tunic and soft, doe skin boots that reach her mid-calf. Gabriel has no real eye for the human form, to him they look much the same as each other, though he imagines that the males of this time would find her beautiful. He is a creature of light and brilliance and grace, it will be strange to gain this kind of form.

She knows that he is there, tightens her hand on the light wood bow that she carries as the dogs at her ankles whine and growl at his presence.

"Have you come to kill me, Archangel?" She asks, glancing over her shoulder at him, the power that is hers twisting around her in tendrils of red black the same colour as her eyes and hair as she draws it closer to her. She can see his true form, see the weapon that he carries and the great arch of his wings.

"No," the leaves on the trees whisper as he speaks, "I am not the sword, I am merely the messenger."

"You carry a spear," she points out, turning her back on the sea so that she can face him and this is why he chose her this time, because she is curious, she will not attack as the others he has approached have.

"I carry it only at my Father's command," he assures her, conveniently ignoring the fact that what he is about to ask will be an act of great disobedience.

"Your Father has also ordered that you slaughter every one of my kind that you come across for false idiolatry," if he understood emotion, the archangel would recognise the amusement in her voice.

"Yet you survive," he points out and she laughs, a forced sound.

"We are dwindling," she tells him, the gravel in her voice more pronounced as she says it, as though she feels true sorrow for the loss of those of her kind that have been killed the last several centuries. "Your brother's children usurp our positions, steal our followers and we are lessened by it, _I_ am lessened by it. That announcement you made fifty years ago has assured our eventual demise."

He nods in feigned understanding, comprehension, of the fear and anger in front of him.

"If you are not here to kill me," she says finally, once she has gotten herself under control once more, "what do you want of me, Mighty Messenger?" He knows that she is mocking him, now, with this title, but he has been forced to kill seven others and he is aware that she knows this, that she is baiting him to see how he will react. He decides to ignore it.

"I am come to ask your aid, I wish to go into hiding," she raises her eyebrows, "I need your help to find a vessel that can contain my true might." He pauses then continues when he realises that she is not convinced, besides he has always enjoyed words. "Now that the Son has lived and passed the final war between Michael and Lucifer is inevitable and I find that I have no desire to watch them try to kill each other once more. I have come to seek your aid, my Father has abandoned us and left us without direction or purpose. I cannot lie to my brethren in this way."

"Yet you have killed so many of my kind over the last ten years," her reply is icy, "how can you do that and expect me to willingly help you?"

"I come to you as a supplicant, not an enemy," he says, turning his spear so that he can plant it, point down, into the ground. "I killed those who attacked me first."

"They did not wish to help?" She asks, frown creasing her forehead.

"They did not give me a chance to ask them," he clarifies and waits while she processes it, looks for the untruths in his words because her kind always believe that there must be lies when dealing with angels and demons both.

"If I agree to this," it is a show of faith in him that she waves her dogs away and sets her bow on the ground at her feet, "the price that we shall both pay will be high, extremely high."

"Name your fee," he orders, because he is accustomed to obedience in his subordinates and she is by far his inferior.

"_My_ fee you can pay easily, I ask only a phial of your grace and a favour in the years to come," which are actually far higher demands than her nonchalant tone implies, internally he balks at the thought of giving away a part of himself to this creature of blood and sacrifice. "I speak of the price _you_ will pay to _yourself_."

"I do not understand," he admits, can sense the importance here of being open and honest with her.

"Any vessel that I make for you will not have the purity of the clay your Father carved mankind from," she explains, walking to the nearby tree and plucking one of the leaves from the branches. "A body that I create will be of wine poured in libation, bones given in sacrifice and ash given in death. You will be tied to it as surely as you have been tied to Heaven, unable to leave if you grow bored, exposed to all the emotion and darkness that you have never seen or felt before." He nods. "It will be a flesh born of insanity and it will taint and embitter you. Can you accept that? Truly?"

"I will pay your price, and acknowledge that there will be consequences to my actions and choices here. Will you help me?" He asks it again and wonders if he will have to fall down upon his knees and beg in order to gain a favourable answer. She pauses.

"Very well, follow me," the leaf flutters to the ground unnoticed and he follows her to one of her temples in Lagina, in what will later become Turkey. His spear remains on the cliff side and when he returns sixty years later there is a great tree there.

It is quiet in the stone building they go to, her temples have never been hives of activity because of her connections with the Underworld, the sole occupant is a blind woman, a High Priestess who seems to sense her goddess and guest and falls to her knees before both in supplication. Hecate places a soft hand on the woman's forehead, whispering to her in her native tongue and it is a message of reassurance and love. The old woman leaves and Gabriel never does find out what happens to her.

They work in this place for five days, building a body from the bones of dogs, ash filled urns and heavy jugs of wine. As she works, Hecate chants steadily in a mix of languages from across this world and the phial of grace glows silver at her breast, even the few droplets that she took from him are enough to completely illuminate the room. When she is not chanting over the vessel that she is building with his limited aid, she is instructing him on what he will become.

A Trickster god. A messenger and carrier of divine justice upon those who truly deserve it. The body will bring him emotions, hunger, lust, anger, despair, _amusement_, and she tells him that the latter will be the most important of all.

More grace is taken from him to give life to the vessel and it stares at the mural coated ceiling in soulless incomprehension.

"Are you ready?" She asks him and he whispers an affirmative, carefully entering that which they have created and taking the time to let his power seep through it.

When he opens his eyes to stare with human vision for the first time, she is gone, and he feels the first pangs of grief tug at him. For the first time in his existence, he is alone.

SPN

Dean has been told that the girl is dangerous, and he cannot help but get the impression that he is being manipulated here, but all he can see when they get to the cabin that Ruby has stashed her in is a frightened young woman with no idea why the angels want her so badly. He hopes that Cas turns up with some answers soon.

Even though he knows that something here is not right, that Anna can tune into angel airwaves and that means that there is something more to her than they are getting, something more than even _she_ knows. That bugs him more than the idea that Castiel might be using him to meet his own ends, because he owes the angel something for pulling him out of Hell, and later he will think on whether that was a good thing given his so called life at the moment, and if finding one girl is the smallest and apparently easiest task that the guy will give him to do, Dean will do it.

After all, everything considered, it has taken his mind off things for a few days.

Anna's devastation at the death of her parents should make him feel _something_, anything, other than the fear and despair and anger that has gripped him the last few months, he knows how it feels to lose your family. Besides, at the end of the day the touchy feely comforting role always has been, and always will be, Sam's part. He is already doing it when Anna goes straight and still, eyes wide, unfocussed and afraid and that, right there, that should be a clue that Cas has not told him everything.

It is a relief when Castiel enters the room, though not so much when Dean sees Uriel because he knows that the other angel _really_ dislikes him and that makes him uneasy.

"Well,_ finally_," he mutters and Castiel's head tilts at that strange and impossible angle. "We've been having demon issues all day," he elaborates, sees understanding on the angel's face.

"Well I can see that," and he wants to know who asked _Uriel _to respond to that statement, "you want to explain why you have that _stain_ in the room?"

"Was wondering that myself," Dean mutters in reply and the blonde demon glares at him for a long moment until Castiel stops the fight before it can begin.

"We're here for Anna," Dean's gut clenches again, all of a sudden he is not so happy to see the blue eyed angel.

"Are you going to help her?" Sam asks, hopeful, blind, still wanting to believe that angels can be the benevolent creatures that he has always envisioned them to be and no matter how many times Dean has told him that they are dicks, the youngest Winchester is still allowing himself to hope. It hurts Dean to see that shattered.

"No, she has to die."

Yeah, Dean _knew_ that Castiel was keeping things from him.

_More from the boys next week, which hopefully I'll get up a little bit more on time given that I have train travel time for a big meeting for work._

_Artemis  
_


	8. Heaven and Hell

_I'm late again, flu will do that to a person, and I got distracted by another fic. I'm now dividing my time between the two and am so thankful for hour long lunch breaks and a manager who understands that sometimes I need to write sentences on little pieces of paper so that I remember them. Half of this was done on those little pieces of paper._

_I don't recommend food poisoning if you have lots to write either, it makes it very hard.  
_

Heaven and Hell.

The angels are not what Sam expected them to be and sure Dean had told him that they are dicks, he has just never wanted to believe it. Until _now_ that is, because he thinks that it is something dark and evil that would use his brother, and all that the man has been through, to search out a defenceless woman so that they can slaughter her in cold blood.

"You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?" Dean says, but the anger that Sam expects is not there. He is simply tired, worn down and worn out by nights of sleeplessness and excessive amounts of alcohol. The youngest Winchester wants so badly, in this moment, to help his brother, to throw this innocent woman to the wolves and turn his attention on Dean, but he knows that his brother will not thank him for it.

"As a matter of fact, we are, and?" Castiel points it out quietly and still there is something in the shift of his shoulders that makes Sam think that there is something else there, a concern for Dean that does not stem from the duty that comes from being the one to pull the older man from Hell. It leaves him with questions that are pushed onto the back burner by the more important issue of Anna, the innocent girl that these angels want to kill. "She is far from innocent." Castiel disagrees when Sam points it out and the young man is confused by that.

"It means that she's worse than this abomination you've been screwing," Uriel snaps and something about the heat in his tone and the use of the profanity seems far removed from Castiel. Sam does not know these creatures, and certainly not on the level that Dean does, but he gets the impression that while Uriel is a hot head, Castiel is the serene one, Castiel is the one who_ cares_. Certainly he manages to look almost apologetic as his companion speaks. "Now give us the girl."

Sam expects Dean to make a smart comment, or at least to tell Uriel to go to Hell. He does not, in fact he simply slumps and that brings a smile to the angel's face even as Castiel's head tilts a little in confusion. Evidently that one knows more about Dean than he lets on, it bugs Sam. _Ruby_ steps forward, prepared to stop Uriel and the other angel from taking the girl that they have all gone through so much to protect and he hopes that this will help Dean to understands why he trusts a _demon_ of all creatures.

Uriel flings her to one side as though she were little more than paper, preparing to exorcise here from the blonde woman's body, or even destroy her utterly because Sam does not think that Uriel has a merciful bone in his body, and the younger Winchester is torn between stepping forward and stopping the angel from killing the demon and trying to help Dean convince Castiel to leave Anna be. It is a near thing, but Sam tries to pull Uriel away. The angel is far more solid that Sam would have thought him to be.

"Cas, wait a minute," out the corner of his eye Sam can see his brother lay a hand on Castiel's shoulder, can hear the cracked note in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Dean," for a moment Sam is almost not sure that he heard the words, and then his brother crumples to the floor and Uriel's hands are about his throat as Ruby struggles to her feet. It is a tense moment, Sam's vision is greying at the edges, Ruby is futilely trying to prize the angel's fingers apart and Castiel has his hand on the door to the room where they hid Anna. All in all they seem to have failed miserably at protecting this girl.

White light fills his eyes and for a long moment he thinks that this is it, this is the end and this time he is going to stay dead, except that when everything clears he is left with an unconscious brother, a demon who is a little the worse for wear and a young woman who is bleeding from long cuts to both her arms as she stares at a smudged sigil on a mirror. Anna is definitely _not_ all that she seems.

SPN

Hecate is eating baklava, sticky honey and nuts all in a lovely pastry case. Gabriel _likes_ baklava, he likes when Hecates is eating it because it means that she is in a good mood, blood means that she is feeling nostalgic, which in turn means that she is short tempered. The song she is humming is an old one, one that they used to sing in her temples and sunlight catches in her hair making it blaze red as she stares out from her perch in an old beech.

"Something you wanted?" She asks, voice content, relaxed, making him wonder what is making her seem so light after so many centuries of darkness and aggravation, and a large part of the latter is down to him he knows.

"You're unusually happy today," he comments, because he can never leave well enough alone.

"Baklava," she tells him.

"_Baklava_?" He repeats. Archangel in hiding? Yes. All knowing Father? No, besides that has to be the single _most_ unhelpful response he has ever received from her and there have been many such conversations.

"Yes," she drops a basket down and only the reflexes of an archangel turned pagan trickster god allows him to catch it. It is filled with the sticky treat. "Baklava. One of my followers left it for me at one of my old temples." It certainly explains the good mood, he steals a piece and hears her outraged exclamation, throws her a smirk and takes a bite, rolling his eyes up at the moistness of it after so long eating mass processed candy bars. Nothing like a nice handmade cake to give an angel a little bit of variety.

"The Winchesters met Anna," he drops the bad news in around a mouthful, disgusting manners, he knows, but it is all the more fun to watch her face turn an interesting shade as she half inhales her own bite of stickiness.

"So soon," she says after a long moment, dropping off her branch and landing easily in the grass.

"It's the right time," his mind is working quickly, too quickly, "and Anna will be a problem."

"How so?" She settles again at the base of the tree, licking her fingers slowly and he can see the way that her eyes narrow at him, daring him to make a lewd comment. For once he ignores it.

"She'll encourage Castiel to go rogue, without her little brother may not turn his back on the Host for Dean."

"You mean he might encourage Dean to play his part," she corrects.

"That too," he smiles at her, offering a sticky hand to help her to her feet and chuckling when she ignores it in favour of getting up on her own. So much for trying to be a gentleman. "You can't give her a vessel."

"In this timeline I still owe your fallen sister a favour," Hecate points out, lets out a shrill whistle and Gabriel hears dogs barking. "I can't renege on that. Besides, if I don't, Uriel will kill Castiel for refusing to turn to Lucifer's side and Dean isn't likely to trust another angel." Gabriel lets slip a small curse. _That_ was something that he had not thought about.

"I'll think of something. We can't let her get her claws into him, she'll just make this more difficult."

"You mean _I'll_ think of something," the goddess grumbles as her hounds begin to gather around her. They are large creatures with mottled fur and eyes that almost glow red in the dark. They remind Gabriel of hell hounds and it really would not surprise him if that were what they turned out to be.

"I didn't say that," he says quickly. "If it comes down to it, I'll handle Uriel myself."

"And tell Castiel that you're alive?" She shakes her head. "Gabriel, you've spent all this time avoiding being found by your brethren, you _know_ that the first thing Castiel will do is tell his superiors that he's seen you." Hecate sighs. "I'll deal with Uriel, we have our ways after all, but you'll have to be the one who kills Anna. I don't break my promises, Gabriel, and I always repay my debts."

SPN

So Dean's gut was right, not that this is a surprise. There _is_ more to Anna than they had first thought, although _fallen angel_ was _not_ on that list, and Castiel _was_ keeping things from him. Actually, killing Anna because of what she is, _was_, does not seem like much of a stretch when the hunter thinks about it. It does not mean that he thinks it is _right_ or that he agrees with it, just that he can understand that the mind of a fanatic would view this as the right course to take. Who can get more fanatical in the worship of _God_ than one of his damn _angels_, anyway?

He curses himself for a fool for ignoring that gut instinct which told him Cas was not telling the whole truth, wants to blame the exhaustion and the clouding of his mind from the alcohol he has been consuming excessive amounts of whilst trying to find a dreamless sleep and run from his memories. Really he knows that it is down to the fact that a part of him had hoped that the angel had become his friend and that as a friend he would not lie.

Perversely, Castiel has done more for Dean the last several months since he dragged the hunter from Hell than Sam has. Even though the angel had been adamant that his role was _not_ to sit on Dean's shoulder and watch him, he _does_. To an extent, anyway. Whenever it gets to be too much, which is about once every few days at the moment, Castiel is there to catch him and stop him from doing anything stupid. He listens as Dean vents and puts the hunter to sleep for a few blissful hours when there is no other way to calm him down. It is not perfect, and it is not the way that _Sam_ would deal with it, but it is all that Dean has.

It is tempting to call Castiel a friend in that respect, because Dean cannot think of many others who would willing sit and listen to everything he has done and thought about since Hell. Sure, a shrink would, but there is something about the way that Castiel does it, the way that he does not offer judgement, whether with words or his demeanor, that makes Dean think that this is something more than a duty to the angel. Which makes the sting of betrayal all that much sharper because Castiel used him to find a girl he intends to murder and the hunter does not know if he can be alright with that.

Finding out that Anna is a fallen angel is not all that much of a surprise when he thinks about it, stood out in the cold night waiting for either the angels or the demons to find him, Sam and the girls, because when he takes a moment to consider it he knows that she must have done something _big_ to warrant being tracked down in this manner. It does not mean that he _agrees_ with the punishment, he does not believe that it fits the crime, but he can understand that dissension in the ranks cannot be encouraged. It makes him worry about what might happen to Castiel if word of his confession on a park bench at Hallowe'en gets back to the people higher up the food chain.

He takes a drink from the hip flask that he always has on him now, and he is not under any illusions about whether or not Sam has noticed _that_ over the last couple of days, stares up at the stars and lets himself think, avoiding sleep for as long as possible. He could be doing something else right now, or someone else, and it is not often that someone will proposition _him_ these days, but Anna did. He would have done, too, if not for the fact that even though she knows the kind of things that he has done, she does not really understand just how broken he is, just how much Hell took from him. Besides, blue eyes have more of an appeal to him these days, plague his thoughts, and he does not want to consider the meaning behind that.

He cannot run from sleep forever.

When he does pass out in the back of his car, because he does not want the company and he does not want to keep everyone else awake when he starts screaming, it is not Hell that he finds himself in. He finds himself in the barn they have been using as shelter from angels looking to throw him back into the pit and he is looking straight at Uriel. If any one of the angels were to invade his sleep, he had expected it to be Cas. This is an unwelcome surprise.

"Don't usually see you off leash," Dean comments and he's trying to sound confident but he knows it falls flat, "where's your boss?"

"Castiel?" There is something in the way that Uriel says it that makes Dean's hackles go up, makes him worry. "He's not here. See, he has this weakness. He _likes_ you." Which actually makes Dean feel better about his choice, makes him feel better about being here, even if it is only a slight brightening in a world too dark to see the light of day. "Time's up, boy," it brings Dean crashing back to his relative reality. "We want the girl."

"Well you're out of luck," Dean says, still trying for bravado and knowing that Castiel likes him adds to his confidence a little. "She got her grace back. Full blown angel now." Uriel laughs and the sound is cold and strangely dead.

"That would be a neat trick," he pulls a necklace out from under his shirt, one that glows with a brilliance that makes Dean wince, "considering I have it right here. She committed a serious crime, she isn't even _human_, so hand her over."

"Or what?" He demands and finds himself wishing that he was arguing this with Castiel rather than his belligerent brother. "You toss me back in the hole? You're bluffing."

"Try me," and Dean can tell that Uriel would do it in a heart beat. "This is bigger than you, Dean, _you_ can be replaced."

"Then do it," because Dean has gotten to the point that he would actually rather _be_ in Hell than relive it every night. "I don't break that easy."

"Yes you do," Uriel's smile is tight, almost evil. "You just have to know where to apply the right pressure." Dean knows what that means, does not need to hear the angel say it and when Uriel hisses his brother's name he knows that he cannot protect Anna any longer. Besides, it is all part of Sam's big plan and even though he is not convinced that it will work, he is going to give up their location and negate the hex bags that Ruby made to hide them.

It does not stop him from feeling guilty about it and he feels even more guilty about it when he sees Anna the next morning, even though she knows the plan. He still feels guilty when Castiel and Uriel breeze through the door as though it is nothing, feels worse when she presses a kiss to his lips in absolution and he feels Castiel's heated gaze on his face. He does feel a little bit better, however, when Alistair marches in dragging a battered and bleeding Ruby in his wake. Then it is all that they can do to get out of the way as the two sides go head to head over one girl.

He knows that he should be concerned about whether or not Uriel is distracted enough by Alistair's goons for Anna to grab her grace and run, but his attention is completely on his former master as his angel is attacked. He wants to see Castiel burn Alistair out of his meat suit in the same way that Uriel is forcing the other demons from theirs. So when it does not happen he feels fear grip him tightly. Cas is an angel, one of the most powerful beings that Dean has ever met, and it is disconcerting that Alistair has just proved the stronger. It is panic that runs through him in that moment, panic that makes him pick up the tire iron and smash it against Alistair's head, because he cannot lose the one person in the world who knows _everything_ that he has done and still _likes_ him.

He choses Castiel over his fear of Alistair, which would ultimately have worked out badly for him, probably culminating in a return to Hell, if not for the fact that the world fills with white as Anna screams for them to close their eyes. Dean has learnt that in this sort of situation that is an order that one obeys. When he opens them, Anna is gone and Castiel is getting to his feet, still staring at the spot where Anna was and there is something about his face that makes Dean a little jealous. Sam is already heading for Ruby, making sure that she is alright as Uriel and Castiel get together to discuss their options. It is only then that it occurs to Dean that without Anna they might still toss Sam, or him, in the pit. Fortunately, Cas puts the leash back on with a glance and a tilt of his head. They are gone in a moment in search of Anna and Dean is left with Sam and Ruby.

One glance tells him that he is probably back in this alone.

"Dean..." Sam trails off, looks at Ruby who gives him a dark look. "Just for a few days," Sam tells her and she mutters something.

"Whatever," her gait is a little unsteady but they watch her leave before heading for the Impala.

Later Dean tells Sam about Hell, tells his brother how it was a hundred years instead of ten months, how he clambered off the rack after only ninety years and began hacking into anyone put in front of him. The uncomprehending pity in Sam's eyes breaks him all over again and all he wants is to never feel again.

SPN

Hecate is still in Greece when the angel formerly known as Anael turns up. The baklava is long gone, what with a sugar addicted archangel and a pagan goddess killing time together, and Hecate is sat on a cliff edge with her dogs lying around her. The large animals are less than pleased to see the angel.

"Anael," the dark haired goddess greets her, "or do you prefer to go by Anna these days?"

"Anna's fine," the voice is not the light one that Dean and Sam have heard. "I've come to call in that favour you owe me."

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" She asks, not because she is trying to get out of it, but because if Anna takes a vessel Gabriel will kill her.

"I didn't ask your opinion," the angel snaps as she pulls herself into the appearance of the body she once had. It will not last long, but it is enough for Hecate to see what she wants. "I need a vessel."

"I gathered that," is the reply, "and I suppose you want that one."

"Yes."

Hecate has never really been a fan of Anael, Anna, she was the one who first discovered the pagan goddess' involvement with Gabriel's disappearance. Anna was the one who figured out how Hecate had managed it. Hecate _hates_ owing anyone _anything_.

"Fine," she says, using a hand to scrape loose hair from her face and scowling up at the amorphous form. "It's going to take me a few days and I don't want you hovering over me while I do it," Gabriel was one thing, Anna is another entirely. "I'll call you when it's ready." The angel does not put up a fight and Hecate is left mercifully alone to begin work on the body.

She summons Anna three days later. The body is finished and all the angel needs to do is make her way into it and animate it, just like Gabriel did. Unfortunately for Anna, Gabriel is waiting in the shadows for her and he has gotten _good_ at hiding himself from others.

Hecate understands that Gabriel thinks it is necessary that Anna not be allowed to interfere, it does not mean that she misses the sorrow that flickers over the archangel's face as the blade slips between the ribs of the new vessel. He is gone when the blinding light clears and Hecate takes a moment to mourn the wasted work and the loss of life before she returns to gazing at the sea.

_I don't hate Anna, but she was in the way and she encouraged Cas, you know that Gabriel wouldn't stand for that if he wanted to change things..._

_Artemis  
_


	9. Death Takes a Holiday

_First of all, I apologise for how long this took to get up. It was an evil thing to write. Secondly, I make _no_ excuses _whatsoever_ for the final part of this chapter, it was the only thing that actually wrote itself without me beating my head against a wall for twenty minutes between words. Actually the bit at the end could be seen as my revenge, or the reason that I had so much trouble with this chapter. Finally, I really, really, sorry! Forgive me?_

Death Takes a Holiday.

Victor Henriksen does not like this town. Dom brought them here to look into the fact that people are apparently not dying. Now he knows that for a fact. The normally abrasive, more experienced, hunter has a knife sticking out the side of her neck. Under usual circumstances this would kill her, all it has actually served to do is make her bad tempered, or more bad tempered depending on how you want to look at it.

He is currently insisting that they go to a hospital, because it may normally be a fatal wound, but this is the town where people do not die and maybe they can get it all fixed up before they figure it out and her dying becomes a problem. Dom kicks the downed body of a man who was once possessed by the demon that just stabbed her, the one that Henriksen managed to evict himself with the right combination of fifty words of Latin and a little holy water, the former FBI agent thinks that may be a little excessive in the circumstances, the guy is unconscious not dead, but refrains from commenting as he examines the knife and the entry wound.

"We need to get you to a hospital," he says, fingers probing gently and he ignores the way that they tremble.

"I'll handle this, Victor," she tells him and her voice is a little wrecked, a little broken and that tells him that she is just as shaken by this whole thing as he is. "You go call Bobby Singer, tell him what's happening." Which is her way of saying that they need help, because Dom is not the kind to ask for it, even as she is yanking the nasty looking serrated blade from her neck.

Two days later she is as patched up as she is going to get, the doctors do not know what to make of her other than the fact that she might well be some sort of medical miracle, and Victor is less than impressed to see the black 1967 Chevy Impala drive into town. He is even _less_ impressed to see Sam Winchester's massive form unfold itself from the passenger seat. When he sees the _driver_, however, his jaw hits the floor, possibly literally because you never do know with this job.

"Dean Winchester," his companion says, voice tense with barely concealed threats and he finds it more than a little soothing to know that she is as mistrustful of their motives as he is.

"Dom Anders," Dean has changed, Henriksen supposes that death will do that to a person. The last time that they met the younger man was all bright eyes and cocky smiles. Now there is something dark about him, something more than a little broken. It makes him wonder if the rumours are true.

"Heard _you_ were dead," Dom pushes a hand back through her short hair, grey eyes wary still and flickering over to Sam more than once, almost as though she expects the younger to do something, to _try_ something.

"I was," the older Winchester flashes something that could be a smile in her direction, but it is fractured and lacks brilliance. For all that Victor has a problem with Sam, and here 'problem' is defined as an 'overwhelming urge to beat the ever living hell out of him', he can see that the younger sibling is concerned about Dean. This is not normal behaviour. "I'm all better now."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Dom mumbles and Henriksen knows that both the other hunters hear it in the way that they tense, in the way that Sam's shoulder line hardens as though he is squaring off against her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He demands of Dom and even though the former FBI agent can see this going south rather more rapidly than he would like, he does not step in, does not like Dom enough to try and keep her safe from the wrath of Sam Winchester and has such a great dislike of Sam that he would gladly watch the young man get his ass handed to him.

"You heard me," she responds, drawing closer to him and staring up, unwilling to be intimidated by the far larger man. "Hell changes people, Sam," Henriksen is watching Dean when his partner speaks and he can see the way that the other man flinches, the way that he seems to curl in on himself and even though he knows that Hell must have unspeakable tortures and ways to make people do unspeakable things, he wonders what, _exactly,_ it was that Dean did. "So how can you be sure that what you've got there is really your brother?" It is a legitimate question and the atmosphere is tense on all sides while they wait for the answer.

"Because I know Dean and I know that's him."

This is them parting ways, handing off the job because Bobby Singer told them that the brothers Winchester were infinitely more qualified to handle this kind of task. Henriksen wonders what makes that the case, does not ask because in this line of work the only information exchanged is monsters and _how_ to kill them, not where to find resources. This is the real test for them, anyway, getting out of town and finding out if the work done by the hospital will hold up and keep Dom alive, Victor still has too much more to learn after all. It does not stop him from grabbing Sam's arm on the way past him.

"I'm going to kill you," he hisses, "you realise that? You don't just slaughter an innocent girl and expect me to walk away. Watch your back."

Later he will look back and wonder if warning Sam was the best idea because a part of him knows that no other hunter would have bothered, that any other hunter would have walked away and murdered Sam in his bed first chance they got. Dom tells him that most hunters will do what is necessary to get the job done and if that means killing a civilian or putting them in danger, then so be it. Henriksen disagrees with that but it is a part of this world and if he feels that Sam is a threat to humanity and society then he will put him down.

Some one has to, after all, at some point. He wonders when that person became him.

As the miles pass and they get further away from Greybull both Henriksen and Dom start to think that maybe they have gotten away with it, maybe going to the hospital and getting her fixed up was the right thing to do. Turns out they were wrong, Dom drops dead at the wheel of her car about an hour after they leave town. The car swerves violently and even though he tries, Henriksen cannot quite get it under control past the weight of his companion's slumped form. They hit a tree, hard, and he losses consciousness for a time indeterminate.

When he comes too he is slumped in the hunter's lap, her eyes staring, sightless, at the crumpled roof of the car and the side of her shirt stained with blood even though there is no wound on her neck to show where it has come from. His own head wound is bleeding freely and he forces his way out of the car, amazed that he has survived this on top of everything else.

"Don't be," the man who looks at him is dressed in a well fitting suit, soft cheeks and soft body, a business man who has probably never done a day's work in his life. "We have work for you, Victor Henriksen."

"Who are you?" Victor demands, needs to know how this guy knows who he is, hearing the edge in his voice and seeing the coldness in his eyes. "How do you know who I am?"

"I know a lot more than that," the other man, and Henriksen is using that description a little more loosely than he usually would, smiles and it is not a pleasant thing to see. "They call me Zachariah."

SPN

Dean has to admit that he never thought that Sam would stick around for as long as he has. Some evenings the younger Winchester vanishes for hours with barely a word to his brother, just that he needs some air. Dean thinks that he knows what Sam is doing, meeting with Ruby and flexing his mental muscles, but he cannot bring himself to really care. Cas told him once to stop his brother, but Dean spent so long in Hell and Sam spent so long alone that the older hunter does not know what sway he holds over his younger brother anymore. He suspects that it is not all that much.

Sam's constant presence, almost constant anyway, means that Dean does not see as much of Castiel as he used to. Now when he has nightmares, Sam is the one wondering what to do, now when he screams himself hoarse at night his brother is the one who tries to offer comfort where there is one and there is not much you can offer to one who spent time in Hell. It amazes him that a socially challenged angel, and incidentally the one who seems to have robbed Sam of his faith in the Upstairs management, is the only one who seems to know what to say to calm him, or what not to say as the case may be.

Since hooking up with Sam again Dean has made more gut wrenching confessions than he feels that he should ever have had to. Sam knows the smallest fraction of what he went through in Hell, the bare bones of ninety years being tortured and ten dishing the agony and despair out. He is not even entirely certain that everyone he took a blade to necessarily deserved it, he just knows that it has changed him and he is frightened that if he is ever in a situation again where he has to torture another, he may find that he still likes it. That thought terrifies him.

It came as something of a relief when they got the call from Bobby saying that there might be a case in this town, and for a while Dean was willing to argue that it might be a genuine place of miracles, he knows differently now, of course.

Seeing Dom Anders, and Dean's father had always told him to stay on the good side of the Anders family, was something of a shock to the system. He had known that at some point he would have to deal with other hunters, others who might know that he had died and gone to Hell. Knowing something and doing something are two completely different things and he cannot quite make a smart comment carry.

Seeing Henriksen with her is just as shocking. He never would have thought that the straight laced FBI agent would turn his back on his old life for one as a hunter, even after finding out the truth from Sam. It is not surprising, however, that the man wants his brother dead, Dean knows that if things had been reversed and it had been Henriksen to kill the Nancy girl he would have wasted no time in ending the agent. Sometimes he has to marvel at the things that he is willing to forgive his brother.

Sam's idea to look into this as ghost is probably _not_ the best one that he has ever had Dean will have to admit, but meeting Alistair again while trying to summon the spirit of the last person to actually _die_ in this town has thrown Dean for a loop more than he is willing to say, which is one of the reasons that he goes along with it. It is a relief that Pamela is willing to help them, and even more so when he finds that he can make Sam uncomfortable as a spirit because he has not been able to do that in too long. It makes him feel better about himself, if only for a little while.

_Reapers_, however, do _not_ make him feel better about himself. Particularly _not_ when they are giving him back memories that he does not think he really needed to have and especially when Tessa tries to convince him that the angels do not have something good in store for him. Contrary to apparent popular belief, Dean knows this he just refuses to accept it. Castiel told him that good things _do_ happen and he so badly wants to believe that, does not want the reaper taking that hope from him.

So when she is taken by the demon, and presumably this is both a very high level demon and the same one that took the last reaper, he wonders if they should bother getting her back. He knows that they have to, because the town cannot continue with people not dying and who knows how far they would get before they actually _did_ drop dead. He and Sam learn how to fight as spirits do, and he never thought that he would be actually learning how to be a ghost, then again look at what _Hell_ taught him, and it leaves him feeling more alive than he was in his own body to be doing this. He may not be good at it, but it is different, new, which counts for something and takes his mind off the things he has done and the pity in Sam's eyes when the younger man does not think he is looking.

He starts to forget about the fun element of it all when he sees the sigils painted over the funeral home and he disregards it entirely when they find themselves trapped in a ring of iron chains. Dean is not sure how he forgot that demons would probably know more about dealing with ghost than most hunters, but being stuck as they are is a stark and harsh reminder. Still, ghost mojo and a little bit of team work later, and he had forgotten how good it felt to work with Sam in this way too, Alistair is on the run and Tessa is preparing to clean up the mess that the demon has made.

Annoyingly, his brother disappears not long after and when the older man rushes outside Sam is nowhere to be found. Dean can do nothing more than wander the streets and wait for Pam to bring him back. He cannot help but feel that something is about to go horribly wrong, which turns out to be completely accurate when he finds Alistair standing in front of him.

SPN

The seal is saved, Castiel knows that as soon as the reaper escapes Alistair's clutches, but his immediate concern is not the demon as he knows that it should be. His first thought turns straight to Dean and how this will have affected the hunter. The angel knows that he is getting too close, that his concern for the human has been noted and frowned upon, that he has been _warned_ that he needs to take a step back from the man.

So the motives behind grabbing Alistair at the moment that he did are not entirely the motives that Heaven would approve of, if anything he could lose his position for them at the very least, even his existence, but even that thought cannot stop him from thinking that Dean is worth that.

"What the Hell?" Dean demands when the brilliance of Heavenly lightening clears.

"Guess again," his human voice still sounds strange to him, gravelled and dark and breaking a little with the grace that still tries to push through. He knows he chose right in aiding Dean the way he has in this moment when the fear on the hunter's face melts into relief, and then the man asks the question, the demand to know where he has been all this time. He wishes that he could have been there to help Dean save this seal, but all he could do was intercept the call of the female hunter and her companion, a man who is without fate or destiny and is therefore a man who should not be alive, and then push Dean in the right direction and hope that he understands.

The hunter does _not_ understand and Castiel half wonders why he thought there was ever a possibility that he would. The man is stubborn, arrogant and without faith, it stands to reason that he would question the need for his interference in this. The angel wishes that he had a better answer than exposing their weakness to him. He does not and so it is the one that he gives, that the funeral home was coated in angel proof sigils. Dean does not accept that easily either.

"If you wanted our help, why didn't you just ask?" He demands when Castiel reveals the deception used to get them there, his impersonation of Robert Singer, though he keeps the circumstances surrounding Dom Anders' death a secret, there is no need for Dean to know that his superiors engineered that to bring Dean closer to the fight or that they intercepted the call to Singer to keep him out of the loop.

"Because whatever I ask, you seem to do the complete opposite," Castiel responds, letting a little of his bafflement seep through. It ends the conversation and pushes the hunter back to the subject at hand, the deaths of the towns people. The man demands, he questions the reason for taking a second chance from all those people who should have died, and finally he falls back on the query that all such men make at one stage or another, albeit in a different manner.

"You made an exception for me," he says and there is heart break in his voice, his eyes, and Castiel knows that he still does not believe that he should have been saved.

"You're different," he tells him and departs, because Dean has too many questions and too much pain and as much as Castiel wants to help him with those emotions, he cannot. His superiors are calling for him and he is too close to telling Dean things that the hunter should not hear, things that will damage his soul further.

He still wishes that he could do more, but knows that he now has to leave the man to his brother and the death of his friend. Part of him want to make an exception there too, to undo the wrong done by him upon Pamela, but he told Dean that the season ends for all things, and this is the end of Pamela Barnes time. This will not be an easy thing for the hunter to accept.

SPN

Pagan gods will happily accept sacrifices and offerings, it is part of what they are after all, but they have their preferences of what they would choose to receive. Some would rather the blood sacrifices of old and the rituals they entail, others like a libation poured to them on stones and cobbles before alcohol is consumed, while still others enjoy the offerings of sweet meats and honeyed drinks.

Hecate is unique in that she will cheerfully take all three. Others call it greedy, she says that it is a survival instinct that they lack and a result of her triple personality. The maiden side of her enjoys the sweet treats, the mother likes to drink the occasional glass of wine and the crone is excessively fond of the blood sacrifices. These days honey cakes and candy bars are a common gift from her supplicants, and this is not wholly unexpected given the furtive nature of many people's worship and how much the blood rites have become frowned upon over the course of the years.

Sometimes, however, she gets sweet wine and even though it is usually in individual glasses and a little soured by the time she manages to drink it, drinking it in front of the supplicant is frowned upon a little and leads to excessive demands that she has little intention of fulfilling for one measly glass of liquid, wine is wine and it is a treat she enjoys. Today someone has been extra desperate for her aid. Today some bored, rich, housewife has left her an entire _bottle_. It is enough for her to grant the request made with barely a thought, a snap of her fingers and the spell to control straying husbands is within the woman's grasp.

The wine is another matter and she is tempted to hoard it for a time, at least until she wants to drink a bottle of dessert wine, except that she has not seen Gabriel since he killed Anna and even though she has gone longer without seeing hide nor hair of him, she is concerned. Being worried about the archangel is no new thing, she created his vessel after all and she spent a long time teaching him how to become a trickster, introducing him to others who could expand on a natural ability and make it into his greatest disguise. He aggravates her at times, and often that is putting it mildly, but he has been a long term ally and friend.

There is not enough alcohol in the world to get Gabriel drunk, not even a little bit, but the act of sharing a drink is sometimes enough and right now she does not need a morose Trickster, archangel or not, drawing too much attention to himself. Which is exactly what he is doing when she finds him, after all, it is one thing to give a single researcher in an animal testing facility his just desserts and another entirely to target the _whole_ lab. He is _laughing,_ however, which is something. That said, the rabbits that were once the researchers currently hopping madly for freedom with the rest of the mammalian lab occupants chasing them with murder in their eyes _is_ actually a little bit amusing.

"Your going to get yourself caught," she tells him, perching on a work surface next to him.

"So?" He shrugs.

"Just doesn't strike me as a very good laying low strategy," she responds and snaps the cork out of the wine. "Of course, if you _want_ to get yourself brainwashed back into working for Heaven, go nuts." She pours some of the wine down her throat.

"I left to get _out_ of this War, Hecate," he says and she hands the bottle to him. "I left so that I wouldn't have to kill any more of my family."

"I know," their fingers brush when she takes the wine back.

"I killed my sister," he mutters.

"She was a threat," she places her free hand on top of one of his. "I'm sorry you had to do it," and she wishes that he would not keep making her feel things, experience things that a god should not, "but without her Castiel doesn't rebel."

"I know and if baby bro doesn't rebel then Sam and Dean have less incentive to say no," he finishes and steals the bottle back off her. "Doesn't make it any easier."

"Whatever happened to my emotionless angel?" She asks, nudging his shoulder and reaching for the wine and scowling when he holds it just out of reach.

"He's still around somewhere." Somewhere off to the side, bunny carnage commences and he smiles at it, watching the way that his female companion licks her lips and grins as she watches. "You'd miss this version of me, anyway," he tells her.

"Don't be so sure," her smirk is accompanied by a slight twitch of her nose, but he does not let the words affect him as the sounds of the slaughter begin to die off and one by one rabbit carcases turn back into badly mauled scientists.

"Apparently, my work here is done," he tells her, still keeping the bottle out of reach and when she reaches for it he takes hold of her hand instead.

"Gabriel," she warns.

"Farewell, fair goddess," the archangel cuts her off, pressing his lips against her palm and the breaths that she does not need to take catch a little.

He is long gone before she realises that he has absconded with her sweet wine.

"_Gabriel_!"

_Like I said, I have no excuses, but I did get my revenge on the plot bunnies which is a good thing._

_Artemis  
_


	10. On The Head Of A Pin

_Oh, but this one is long, and again most of it was written on little scraps of paper while on the phone to screaming morons, otherwise known as customers. I think this actually the longest chapter yet, this cannot be a bad thing, and Hecate and Gabriel have actually taken over their bits and won't let me control them properly. Actually I'm slowly building up a folder of stuff that they want me to do that I don't think fits. This cannot be good._

On The Head Of A Pin.

Sam is going to leave him soon, Dean knows this because his brother is restless and talking about Ruby and Dean knows that he is itching to get back out there and find Lillith. The hunter wants to go with him, desperately so, but he knows that he cannot. He is tired, so very tired. He is tired of the nightmares and of losing people that he cares about. He is tired of the angels and their manipulations. He is tired of not knowing what is going on, but above all else, he is _so_ tired of fighting and getting no where.

All his life he has been fighting, whether it be evil or his dad or Sam, he has been fighting just to survive and continue with his way of life. When it gets right down to it, his way of life is pretty damn terrible, a mixture of bad food, no pay and a life time spent being thrown into things, thrown through things, kicked, bitten, punched and generally beaten up. It is not much of a life at all, for all the excitement and freedom that it gives him. Point is, all his life he has been fighting to survive, fighting to have the life that he was raised into and wanted to keep because it was all he knew, and nothing has been made any better by it. All his life he has fought to keep something and everyday it just gets worse and worse, harder and harder and he cannot do it anymore.

Sam tells him to stop being tired and start being mad, but right now Dean is feeling every one of his one hundred and thirty years old, and telling Sam that ten months up here was a century years downstairs has really thrown them both off kilter, and he wonders how he is supposed to find the energy to be angry when he spends his nights drinking his way into Hell and his days running from the memories. He is all used up and he just attended Pamela's funeral. There is nothing left in him to give and he knows that Sam cannot understand that.

Getting back to the motel room to find Castiel and Uriel waiting for them is another kick in the gut. It can only be a bad thing after all, and Dean is not so stupid that he does not realise that they are manipulating him for all that they are worth because that was _proved_ to him back in Greybull. In a way he is hurt that Castiel had to resort to subterfuge to get him to do what was necessary, but he is not overly surprised. Since he got out there on his own, no dad and no Sam to tie him to one way of doing things, he has begun to question more, begun to wonder how things could be done differently and to want answers to his questions.

No matter how much he may want to, Dean knows that he cannot give Castiel the same trust that he allowed when it was just the two of them, when Cas helped him sleep and offered him comfort in his nightmares. The hunter knows that the angel is a warrior, a soldier, but there are feelings there, emotions that Cas tries to hide and tries to control. He likes that the angel does not always succeed.

So, sure, Castiel is a tactician and he is not always one hundred percent truthful with Dean, nor is he all that patient, Cas is a leader, for the most part, he is not accustomed to having to explain things. He _is_, however, a million times better than Uriel, and that is_ not_ just because he 'likes' Dean. Castiel may not be patient, and he may not like to explain things, he may be baffled by Dean's behaviour and he may not be _human_, but he saw the hunter in the pit and he saw what Hell did to him and, to a degree, Dean likes to think that he understands. Which makes him less of an annoyance and a lot more tolerable in Dean's mind.

Uriel does not have _any_ of those redeeming qualities, in fact Dean doubts that the other angel has the ability to be nice or understanding at all. It sits with him incredibly badly to see Castiel standing quiet and obedient in a corner while Uriel lectures him about being raised from Hell and the fact that he should be grateful for it.

"Dean, we know this is difficult to understand," Castiel says, voice gravelly with something that Dean would once have labelled as concern.

"And we," Uriel cuts Castiel off with the kind of look that tells Dean that the power has shifted, that something has gone wrong somewhere and Cas is no longer what he was, "don't care. Now, seven angels have been murdered, all of them from our garrison. The last one was killed tonight."

Something dark and disgusting crawls into Dean's mind at that, something which says 'good' while all the while hinting at the fact that this probably means they are going to ask him to do something that he does not like. He feels a little bad about that, because the Cas did pull him out of Hell and demons are killing off his brothers and sisters, his _family_ and Dean knows how that feels, but he does not want this to turn into something that he will regret.

Dean also hates it when he is right about these things. The angels have Alistair, and with the demon's knowledge of torture it will be a cold day downstairs before he starts talking due to their probably limited knowledge of such methods of persuasion. That cold feeling in his gut intensifies when Castiel speaks, eye compassionate even though his voice does not falter. They want him to torture Alistair.

"No. No way. You can't ask me to do this, Cas. Not this," he is begging, babbling almost, but he cannot let that monster out again, not for anything or anyone and he hates that it has come to Castiel, and Uriel but that angel may as well not be in the room for all the response Dean gives him, asking him to become that creature again.

"Who said anything about asking?" Uriel demands, steps forward and presses his fingers to Dean's head and the room vanishes.

The hunter finds himself in a warehouse, looking through the window of a large door and at a devil's trap that contains a heavily bound Alistair. Castiel is talking softly just over his shoulder and Dean thinks that the angel is trying to reassure him, but there is nothing that can make the hunter want to do this, not Castiel's soft assurances that Alistair will not break out of the trap and not Uriel's repetition of the fact that angels are dying. Everyone dies eventually.

"This is too much to ask, I know," Castiel says abruptly and it gets Dean's attention, "but we have to ask it." It is enough to make Dean stand up to Uriel, just enough to get him to crack a half hearted joke that persuades that other angel to leave and Dean finds himself alone with Castiel. It is a decidedly uncomfortable moment but it may be his only opportunity to get answers, so he dives in.

Finding out that this _is_ his fault, that Castiel has been demoted because of _him,_ is another blow. Cas says that his superiors believe he has become too emotional, gotten too close to the humans in his charge but as far as Dean knows there is only _one_ human that Castiel looks out for and that is him. He still tries to persuade the angel that this is a bad idea, that they do not want him to do it, but Castiel is the bigger picture guy and if anyone can talk Dean into walking through that door and taking up the knife, apparently it is him.

"For what it's worth," he says as Dean looks through the door again, back tense and self loathing eating at him because he really _is_ considering it now, "I would give anything _not_ to have you do this." Those are the words that tip Dean over the edge, because they sound so heartfelt and the burn of Castiel's impossible eyes in the back of his neck is so sorrowful that he _knows_ the sentiment is genuine, he knows that even though Castiel will probably ask him to do many things he will not like in the future, if the angel were ever to have a choice this would be the one thing that he would never ask.

"I'll need a few things," he says and closes his eyes, feels Castiel's presence brush behind him as the angel seems to instinctively fetch everything that the hunter is too afraid to ask for.

Facing Alistair's taunts and sly confidence is harder than he had thought it would be, and Dean has had a lot of time to think about this. He has had a century in Hell to plan all of the things that he would do to the demon and he finds that now that he has the chance, he does not want to let it go to waste. The one thing that he _is_ thankful for is the alcohol that Castiel has also provided, he knows that he will need it, especially when Alistair starts talking about how John Winchester completed his century without ever _once_ contemplating climbing off the rack. It hurts to hear, but Dean has been aware of the fact that he is not his father for years now.

The demon's screams do nothing to make Dean feel any better about all of this. If anything they make it all worse, because the whole time the demon is jibing and poking, pulling at the tears and scraps of Dean's soul and feeding all the moments of doubt and hatred. When he finally gets something from Alistair, it is not the words he wanted, not the confession or the information that he was hoping for. He allows himself to hope for a moment that the demon is lying, because demons _do_ lie, but deep down he knows that is not the case now.

"And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break," Alistair is slurring the words, but the meaning of them is clear enough even if the demon had not told the hunter what they really meant. Dean got off that rack and he picked up that blade and he broke the first seal.

He keeps his back turned, desperately trying to bring himself back under control and wondering _why_ Castiel did not tell him this, and all the while Alistair is making soft assurances, telling him that this is the truth and not something that the creature would need to lie about. The worst of it is that Dean _knows_ that it is not a lie, feels it right down to the core of his soul and now he understands why the angels pulled him out. They dragged him out so that he could fix the mess that he made.

Turning around to see Alistair loose and grinning at him is hardly a shock after everything else and he entertains the vague hope that the demon will succeed in killing him before the world becomes blackness and pain broken only by a moment of light and hope when Castiel appears in a futile attempt to rescue him.

SPN

Sam is not sure if he is more angry with the angels or with himself when Dean is taken. He knows that there is no way that he could have stopped it from happening, these beings are _far_ more powerful than him after all, but he thinks he should have made more of an effort in the matter. His main concern, though, is that he is certain that the angels do not know just how damaged Dean really is, how far from being able to do this.

Sam calls Ruby, asks her to help him find Dean and he is completely unsurprised her reaction. Initially she is reluctant to help, even before he manages to talk her into coming to the motel, because she is a demon and she has no wish to mess with angels even if they are long gone. He keeps on pushing, keeps on pressing and eventually she turns up, face like thunder and an attitude that almost makes him regret asking.

"I can still smell them," she snaps. "Seriously, Sam, I'm not exactly _dying_ to tangle with angels again."

"I just need you to find Dean," he tries to placate her but they both know that he needs more than that. It has been weeks since she last gave him what he needs and his abilities are growing weaker with each passing day. If he is going to help Dean he will need more blood.

He is well aware of the fact that Ruby does not like his brother and that she fails to see the problem with letting Dean cut Alistair into pieces and get a measure of revenge on the demon for the things that he inflicted on the hunter in Hell. Sam explains it as best he can and yet he knows that the demon is not convinced, he knows that she would rather they leave Dean to rot and they continue on their quest to find and kill Lillith before going after the Trickster. Sam knows that this has become less about revenge on the Trickster now anyway, the demi-god ceased to be a threat when the hunter was told about the seals to Hell being broken.

"Look, you help me find Dean and I'll come back on the road with you," he says abruptly. "He can't do it anymore, angels or not, and someone has to stop this." She considers him for a long moment, face hard and eyes searching, seeking out deception and failing to find any in his earnest gaze.

"Fine," she mutters, scraping blonde hair back off her face and securing it behind her. "Angels aren't interested in covering their tracks anyway so it shouldn't be too hard to find them. You got a map?"

Sam would point out that asking a hunter, and therefore essentially a nomad, if he has a map is like asking a bird if it has wings, except that he still needs her to help so he holds his tongue and fetches it from the car. When he returns with it she is already set up for the spell on the tiny motel table and she stares at him balefully for a moment, like she wants to ask if he is certain that he wants to cross the angels again. This is _Dean_, though, his only family and he _has_ to protect his brother even though he knows that the other hunter will never thank him for it. He nods, face softening a little because he also knows that Ruby will never understand this bond between them, and the demon begins a soft chant, her words almost hissed. He flinches when the map bursts into flames and the laugh that comes from his companion is hard.

"Relax, we only need the bit that tells us where to find Dean," she smirks at him. "Out," she commands, then, and the flames obediently vanish. "There," she picks up the small circle of paper and hands it to him, "this is where you'll find him."

"Thanks, Ruby," his eyes are almost unseeing as he heads to the door, hands in his pocket and grasping at the hard, cool, metal of the car keys before she stops him.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" She asks and when he looks at her she already has her jacket off and her knife out of her boot. "If you're going after Alistair you're going to need this."

The demon presses the knife to her arm, crimson welling up around the blade, and Sam is making his way towards her without a thought, even though a part of him is screaming at him to stop this. Ruby's lips curl up in another smirk as he draws closer and steals a harsh kiss from her before taking her arm, lifting it to his mouth and latching over the cut. The blood is thick, warm and coppery, with the under taste of sulphur and it should repulse him but he finds that it slides down more and more easily every time that they do this.

He takes another kiss from her when he is done, the fresh blood rushing through him making him want to do _so_ much more but he knows that there is not time for that. Dean needs him and he breaks away from the demon, promises to call her as soon as he is done and beats a hasty retreat, clambering into the car and taking off so fast that the wheels spin and the breaks squeal.

He is almost too late and he curses Ruby for resisting his pleas in the first place. When he reaches the previously abandoned warehouse Dean is a bloodied and broken mess on the floor, breathing shallow and eyes closed, and Castiel is apparently being forcibly ripped from his borrowed body by Alistair. The angels messed up and Dean has paid the price here, it makes something in Sam snap.

Alistair is hurled against a wall with barely a thought, just a flick of the wrist and he is suddenly very grateful that Ruby reminded him that he needed the blood as much as he did Dean's location. He barely spares a thought for Castiel, but knows that all of this will have been for nothing if he does not get the information that he needs from the demon. So he pushes and he pulls and eventually Alistair admits that he does not know anything, that he never knew anything and Sam believes him, Sam _knows_ that the words are the truth. It takes less than a moment to squeeze the life out of the demon.

He does not regret it.

SPN

The burden of his failure to Dean burns at Castiel as he looks in through the hospital door, sees the hunter hooked up to all manner of machines in an attempt to keep him alive. The angel's orders are simple, look but _do not touch_ and it hurts to have to keep this distance from a man that he has offered comfort to so many times. He knows the instant that Sam sees him that he has been there for too long, even though it was little more than a fleeting glance, and he turns to leave, not surprised by the angry demands of the young man only moments later.

"Get in there and heal him. Miracle. Now!" Sam's words are angry, but Castiel is _not_ going to explain to him no matter what the boy says or demands. He has a point, however, about the trap and the angel resolves to look into it as he moves away, desperately ignoring the human's words and anger because it mirrors his own feelings on the matter too closely and he needs to keep that under control, needs to keep it contained.

He seeks out his conspicuously absent brother instead and finds him on a snowy bench. The cold air curls around his grace as though it is seeking the warmth that it offers and Castiel settles next to him, patiently waiting for his brother to speak. The words are not welcome ones. They have been ordered to stop searching and Castiel can think of only one explanation. Heaven has forsaken them, they are failing and for that they are being punished.

Uriel is apparently of the same opinion, in that moment declaring his intention to disobey and leaving his brother in the snow. Abruptly, Castiel wishes that he knew what had happened to Anna, Anael, so that he could ask her for some form of guidance. Instead he sits in the snow and lets his thoughts consume him, not daring to seek for revelation in case his superiors, his Father, hears the parting words of Uriel and deems him too much of a threat.

His thoughts wander back to the devil's trap, the one that he drew himself and that he _knows_ no demon can break free of. Something in that room was not right, something has to have been tampered with and he decides to expel his suddenly restless energy on finding out _who_ would try to ensure that the Righteous Man dies.

When he reaches the room it does not take him very long to find the answer. A leaky pipe and a steady fall of water onto spelled chalk outline. Given that he checked the room himself before drawing the trap he finds the suddenly loose tap disturbing. It ignites in him an equally troubling suspicion, Uriel's words and actions over the last several months and the simple fact that no demon would be able to break through the barriers created by that trap. Only an angel could have done this and he summons his brother with a thought, tells him what he has found.

"We've been friends for a long time, Uriel. Fought by each other's sides, served together away from home, for what seems like forever. We're _brothers_, Uriel. Pay me that respect. Tell me the truth," because he already knows in his mind what is about to pass his brother's lips.

"The truth is, the only thing that can kill an angel," there is a flash of silver at Uriel's wrist and the sharp hiss of a blade being drawn, "is another angel." It confirms his suspicions and drives a blade sharper than the one that Uriel carries through his chest.

He had not wanted to believe it and yet here is the proof, staring him in the face and asking him to _join_ in this betrayal of Heaven, of their Father. Even discovering that Uriel has doubts about Him is not as big a shock, every single angel has had them at some point, but that Uriel has gotten away with it, subverted so many of his brothers and sisters, is terrifying. He cannot side with those that would raise Lucifer, no matter how bright his brother once was, because it is not the Will of his Father and it is not what he thinks is right. With the vague thought of rebellion against his superiors in the back of his mind, because Uriel can only have managed this if someone is turning a blind eye, Castiel knows that he has to concentrate on doing what is right.

It is why he is the one to throw the first punch in a fight that he knows he cannot win.

Angels are beings of light and grace and _power_. When they fight it is fast, it is furious and it is destructive, the building that they are in does not stand a chance against the solid mass that is an angel contained in a vessel and even though he takes Uriel by surprise, the fight quickly goes south for the weaker angel. He knows that he is going to lose this, that Uriel will lay the blame and the betrayal at his door and that Dean will be in even more danger. Still, he has to try, has to believe that his faith will save him.

"You can't win, Uriel," he grates out as his brother picks up a pipe, "I still serve God." The metal hurts when it comes into contact with him, forcing him down and Uriel's wrath is vicious.

"You haven't even met the man," he growls, smashing a fist into Castiel's vessel. "There is no will," he strikes again. "No wrath," and again. "No God."

"Well," a distinctly female voice says and Uriel turns his head, allowing Castiel to catch a glimpse of red black magic as wood and metal is thrust through Uriel's neck, "maybe not, but I figured that maybe I could stand it."

It is Hecate and as Uriel falls she flicks her wrist, twisting her spear out of his body and crying out as his dying grace catches her and flings her against the wall across from him. It takes him a moment to reorientate himself, but he is still faster than her and he has managed to get to his feet and pick up the sword that Uriel would have used to kill him before she has shaken the lights out of her eyes. She is aware of him, however, and she reaches for the spear as he draws nearer, getting to her feet and moving the blade out of sight as best she can. Unfortunately for her, she does not manage it before he manages to get a glimpse of the inscription.

"_That_ is an archangel's blade," he growls, the origins of her weapon adding to his confusion about the reasoning behind her actions. Hecate is a pagan, after all, she has no interest in making sure that the agents of a God who does not tolerate the existence of her kind remain alive.

"So it is," she does not look all that surprised by his words and instead her eyes flicker away from him to the door behind him. "I'll be on my way, then," she says and he can feel her gathering her magic about her, can see the red black strands of it coiling, "there's really no need to thank me."

"Where did you get it?" He demands, curling his free hand into a fist and dispersing the spell she was weaving, using his own grace to push her against the wall and pin her to his mercy once more, the spear pressed tightly and uselessly at the small of her back.

"I just saved your life," she snaps, eyes flashing and magic starting to swirl in an attempt to escape, "let me go."

"I'm not a demon to be bargained with," he reminds her, raising the blade. he can tell that she remembers their last meeting and his threat to her by the way that she draws on her magic, the effort it is now taking to hold her in place.

"Well you won't get an answer if you kill me," she eyes the sword warily, and screams when he twists his grace.

"Tell me," and this time he presses the blade to her stomach at the same time as he tightens his hold on her, "where you got it."

"Only an idiot fights Hell," she grinds out between gritted teeth as she begins to struggle physically, "and only the heir to the throne of the _kingdom_ of idiots starts a war with my kind at the same time." He knows, then, that she is protecting someone, that her words are designed to throw him off his desire to find out where she got the weapon.

"You over estimate your worth to them," he tells her. The pagans are fractious, difficult and self centred, they rarely get along with one another and are just as likely to kill each other as they are to join together against Heaven _or_ Hell.

"Actually, I think you _underestimate_ her value to us," another voice says and this one, though still tinged with madness and death and blood, is male and carries a hint of grace about it. The _voice_ is unfamiliar, but there is a _power_ to the grace in it that is not.

He turns, coming face to face with a small man with mousey hair and eyes that are a rich honey brown. He pushes against the curl of chocolate coloured magic, what the pagans call worship, expecting it to have a weakness. What he finds is something of steel and of _grace_ and there is only one other angel missing from Heaven that Castiel is aware of.

"You," he breathes, unable to say the name that is on the very tip of his tongue because _something_ stops him.

"Hey, bro," the other smirks and behind him Castiel hears Hecate sigh, feels her struggles stop and the muffled thud of her head making contact with the wall. The words have already confirmed Castiel's suspicions as honeyed eyes turn on the goddess. "I told you not to hang around," he says and she shrugs, rolling her eyes as Castiel's attention returns to her fully even though he has not relaxed his graced hold on her. The fact that she has stopped struggling and is more relaxed makes Castiel uneasy, however.

"I know," she responds, "but I also seem to recall telling _you_ not to come after me if I got caught." There is a flash of something dangerous in her eyes, then, almost a warning and Castiel wonders how his powerful brother got mixed up with her.

"Well, you did a bang up job of escaping," he rests a hand on Castiel's arm, sending a jolt of grace so powerful through him that the angel withdraws his grip on Hecate with a start. It is all the answer that he needs, all the confirmation in that one sharp shock that this is _Gabriel_, the missing archangel.

"Yeah, I was doing _fine_," she spares Castiel a momentary glare before turning back to his brother, "until you showed up, and now you've blown it." She does not say his name, does not have to, but the implication of her words is clear. Castiel knows that he should turn Gabriel in, that he _has_ to, because the archangel has disobeyed, and clearly Hecate knows the same, her attention as wholly on his brother as Gabriel's is on her.

"What is this?" He asks and is unsurprised when he does not receive an answer. They are so wrapped up in one another, in their bickering about what Gabriel has just done that they hardly seem to notice him. In Heaven, this kind of behaviour would not be unexpected from the archangel, and even now it is not difficult to see it happening, but that _Hecate_ is utterly oblivious to the threat that he poses is a sign of just how much trust she has in his brother.

"He won't say anything," Gabriel finally turns his attention back to the other angel, honey eyes piercing, "_will you_, Castiel?" It is not so much that the archangel knows his name that startles Castiel as it is the deep flash of gold in his eyes as he speaks, the obvious threat behind the words and it does not even _occur _to him to disobey that order. "Go tend to your human," he orders and offers his hand to the goddess. "Shall we, Hecate?"

She nods and rests a light hand in his offered one, her smile brilliant. They are gone between one heart beat and the next and Castiel is left no less baffled by this turn of events than he was at seeing the pagan goddess come to his aid. This experience has taught him something unexpected, however, and that is the simple fact that angels disobey all the time, whether they be archangels or common foot soldiers like Anael and Uriel, and unless _fate_ intervenes they seem to be able to get away with it for the most part. Uriel most likely would have if Hecate had not killed him, and the same holds true for Gabriel if Castiel choses not to turn him in. If this is the case for them, would it also hold true for him?

First, however, he needs to see Dean, needs to be certain that the hunter will be alright.

When he reaches the hospital, the room is silent but for the gentle beeps of monitors and the soft rasp of Dean's breathing. There is no sign of Sam, although the room is thick with the scent of the demon that the youngest Winchester runs with. It is clear that the younger brother has abandoned the elder in his hour of need. He settles in a chair near the bed, even though he knows that Dean will likely not want to see him, feeling the man's still silent anguish as the hunter returns to consciousness.

"Are you all right?" He asks it because he knows that it is the right thing to ask, he does not expect a truthful answer.

"No thanks to you," Dean rasps, anger and pain twisting violent in him. Castiel knows that he deserves the response.

"You need to be more careful," he does not mean it to come out sounding like a rebuke or a reprimand, but it does and Dean reacts to it.

"You need to learn how to manage a damn devil's trap," the words are almost whispered and even though Castiel dislikes having to explain things, believes that orders should be followed, he explains this, tells Dean that Uriel died because he was working against them. He does not tell the hunter _how_ his brother was killed.

"Is it true? Did I break the first seal? Did I start all this?" The change in subject surprises the angel and he looks at his charge, can see the shattered edges of his soul and the deep damage that this revelation has done. Zachariah is not going to be happy with this development, this change. Dean's torment is a threat to his ability to stop this and Castiel has to think quickly to try and minimise the damage. In the end he goes with the truth, tells Dean that they knew of the plan and got there too late, that this is _not_ his fault, that as the righteous man he is the only one who can stop it.

He wishes that he knew what it all meant, that he could give Dean the answers that would allow the hunter to heal a little, but they do not tell him much and even with the hunter calling him on his limited knowledge, there is little more that Castiel can tell him. All he knows is that their fate lies with this broken man.

"Well, then you guys are screwed," there is more emotion here, more heartbreak, than Castiel has ever heard in one person and it touches even him. "I can't do it, Cas. It's too big. Alastair was right. I'm not all here. I'm not strong enough. Well, I guess I'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be. Find someone else. It's not me." His self doubt has been magnified a thousand fold by these harsh truths and Sam's abandonment, and Castiel has to lean back in his chair as he sees tears begin to fall because he does not know what to do.

He stares at the ceiling for a long moment before reaching over and laying his hand over Dean's the touch gentle and he knows that the hunter understands the compassion and comfort that it is meant to offer. Zachariah is calling for him, however, and he knows he cannot stay. So he stands and goes to the side of the bed, looking down at his charge. Dean is haggard and drawn, still a long way from healing fully, and Castiel knows that he will not heal well if he continues to mentally berate himself this way. The angel brushes two fingers lightly across the hunter's forehead, putting him into a deep, healing, sleep, one that he has been ordered not to give.

For the first time in his existence he has disobeyed. He suspects that it will not be the last.


	11. It's A Terrible Life

_I swear these two have lives of their own that they're not telling me about. The number of times that I moved cut scenes from this fic for Gabe and Hecate is almost enough for me to write them another fic based on them alone. Will probably have to do that once this is done. It's a good job I completely adore Gabriel and don't mind Hecate otherwise I'd be in trouble. Not the easiest of chapters to write, this one, and AU of an AU._

_As for the deleted scenes... I didn't want to up the rating on this fic at all, let alone just yet, so they'll stay under wraps unless you all ask very, very, nicely.  
_

It's a Terrible Life.

Gabriel and Hecate are arguing, they have been since she killed Uriel two weeks ago. For an archangel who left because he did not want to have the blood of his brethren on his hands Gabriel is beginning to think that he is ordering rather a lot of them to be killed these days. The fact that it is only a matter of time before Castiel is forced to reveal the nature of his disguise is only another reason why Gabriel is on edge.

Over the last two weeks he and Hecate have spent time both apart and together, meeting up when one becomes concerned about the other and seeks them out to make sure that they are safe. This time _he_ got spooked, felt the presence of Zachariah in a town near to Hecate's location and whisked _both_ of them to one of his safe houses in Alaska. A safe house which is currently in lock down so that no one else can get in, but no one can get _out_ either unless he wants it.

This is an old log cabin, untouched by the modern world unless one were to count the comfortable furniture he has used, a perpetual fire burning in it's grates and candles lighting every dark corner. He supposes that were it not for the circumstances it could be quite romantic, and it is a thought that he will one day have to entertain properly, but for the moment it is not and he knows that is as much his fault as it is that of the pagan goddess who is currently glowering up at him. The candlelight should soften her face but her anger has made it appear sharp, primal, and it is another one of those little things that remind him of exactly _what_ she is. He finds that sometimes he loses himself in their friendship, if that is what this is, and forgets about the dangerous side of her.

"You're not being fair," she hisses at him from the chair she has slumped in.

"I'm not?" His eyes narrow and his lips thin and she opens her mouth to retort. "You know, I'm not the one who got us caught."

"I _told_ you not to come after me," she argues, getting to her feet. "Hades knows I didn't tell you to drop the Trickster facade and let Castiel _feel_ your grace!" She moves towards him, anger making her seem to stalk rather than glide as she normally would. "_Idiot_! I spent centuries weaving that net around you, helping you hide, and for _what_?" She is so close now that her chest is almost touching his, her head tilted back slightly so that she can stare up at him. "So you could _throw_ it away the instant you got an opportunity to intimidate one of your siblings."

He knows that she is aware that she has gone to far as soon as the words leave her lips, the way that his own lips thin and his eyes narrow at her words are more than enough to tell her that. He goes unnaturally still for a long moment before he finally takes a stop forward, watching as she takes a nervous one _back_ even though she is still angry with him.

"You would rather I let him _kill_ you?" He demands, still moving closer, forcing her ever backwards. "Or that he hand you over to Zachariah?"

"So I'd be _dead_," she whispers, "they wouldn't have gotten any answers and you'd still be hidden." Her back collides with the wall behind her and he knows that the only reason she is backing away is that she is frightened of the grace that he is still displaying.

"Zachariah has a mean streak a mile wide," he reminds her, "he would have gotten his answers _before_ he killed you!" Her eyes are wild now, looking for a way out and it is not going to be something that he allows her until he has gotten his point across. "I'm not stupid, Hecate, I know you've got very well developed survival instincts. You would have given me up long before then." Her reaction is physical rather than verbal and there is a sharp crack as her hand makes contact with his cheek.

"How _dare_ you?" The words are hissed low and hard, his cheek stings where he knows she used some of her own power to lash out at his true self. "We have a _deal_, Gabriel, an arrangement. I agreed to help you hide among us, to show you how to be a pagan god. I helped you _become_ one of us. Betraying you to them now would destroy me as surely as any torture they could come up with." She takes a deep breath. "You should have left me."

The words hurt him, far more than he expected them to, she is resigned to the idea that she may have to die for him and that is something that he does not want to hear. He never wants to hear that.

"Will you get it into your _head_, Hecate," he leans close again, this time putting a hand on either side of her head and boxing her in completely. "_I don't want you to die_." She stares up at him, eyes flickering over his face as she tries to find the truth behind his words, the reason that he may have.

"Of course," she whispers, "because if I'm dead I'm useless to you." There is a hollowness there, like she really does believe that she is only a thing that he has been using. It is almost like she thinks that he has been making all these trades and bargains with her all this time because she can be of use to him, the years they have spent together as nothing in his eternal eyes.

"_No_," his denial is perhaps a little too vehement and she shrinks back from him, "you _stupid_," he cuts himself off before he can insult her further, say something to her that both will regret. Instead he swallows his pride and his anger and forces himself to look her in the eye, to make a confession. "You're all I have now, Hecate," Gabriel brushes a hand against her cheek and is amazed when she leans into the touch briefly, "why can't you see that?" He cannot take the words back, the truth is out and he has to wonder what she will make of it.

"Gabriel," she breathes his name and it is too full of something like prayer and something like pity. He cannot stay. The lock down on the cabin is released with less than a thought and as he vanishes her second, more plaintiff, whisper of his name follows him.

SPN

Dean Smith is an eminently practical man. He does not have time for flights of fancy, loud music or loose women. He is nearly three weeks into this new job and this is the important one, the job that will give him that secure future if he can _just_ make his position with Mr. Adler that little bit stronger.

Of course, what he is doing right now is likely to do that exact opposite, but after the I.T. guy, Ian, stabbed himself in the neck with a pencil right in front of Dean he has a strong desire to know what is happening in this place. Under any other circumstances Dean is fairly certain that after a night of rest and a few days furious work he would have let the matter of an employee committing suicide in front of him drop as just another day at the office, except that there were other things and he is not yet willing to let those go.

Dean Smith is a practical man, so the temperature in a bathroom dropping low enough to make the warmth of hurried exhalations visible can be explained on malfunctioning air conditioning. An employee killing himself, though not the first one in a short time scale, can be explained as someone who was over worked, under paid, and trapped in a place they cannot find a way out of. What cannot be explained away so easily is the way that all the taps came on while the Ian-guy freaked out, or the way that the soap dispensers suddenly decided that they did not want to hold the viscous liquid anymore. Most of all, however, he cannot explain away the man in the mirror who was not there and looked like he had stepped out of a portrait one hundred years ago.

It has caught his attention and he has no intention to let the matter drop until he has answered the question and he does not know why. He also has the urge to call his brother, Sam, who left a promising job as a lawyer a month ago with a nasty temper, a drink problem, and a disturbed young woman named Ruby. Dean has not heard from him since.

"You still here?" A voice asks from the door and Dean glances away from his computer to see Victor Henriksen, the company lawyer who plays golf with Adler every Wednesday morning and another face that Dean has to make nice to if he wants to advance in this company. Getting to the top is not just hard work after all.

"Just finishing up on a few things," he replies, waving a hand vaguely at the seat on the other side of the desk and looking back at the computer again.

"Adler won't like that you're still looking at these deaths, Dean," the dark skinned man warns as he settles. "It was a suicide and there was nothing you could have done."

"I know that," he insists, "logically I know that. But there's something not right about this. I mean the guy before him was two weeks off retirement," he can tell that Victor was unaware of this, that the other man was disinterested as soon as the word 'suicide' was attached to the body. "This guy, he could have cared less about the company and the job, but two days ago he was called to Human Resources and told to report to room fourteen-forty-four. He came back a changed man."

"Wait," the other man is frowning, "which room did HR tell him to report to?"

"Uh," Dean rereads the email. "Fourteen-forty-four."

"I know you haven't been here long, Dean, but even you know HR's on seventeen," Victor points out and they sit in silence for a moment. "How did you find that anyway?" Dean shrugs uncomfortably. "Never mind, I don't want to know."

"But you do want to know what's in fourteen-forty-four," Dean offers and Henriksen grins at him. Both get to their feet, Dean grabbing his jacket, and make their way out of the office intent on getting to the fourteenth floor and finding out why a branch of human resources is on the wrong floor.

On the way there, however, they bump into Castiel, and Dean has not yet managed to get the man's last name, who is apparently Adler's P.A.. Dean likes Castiel. The man can be a little abrupt and he really does not like to explain things, but he seems like a good, hard working, guy. What is horribly clear in the instant that they see him is that Victor does _not_ like him.

"Dean," his name rolls off Castiel's tongue, all warmth and concern. "Mr. Henriksen," there is a pause before the rumpled looking man says Victor's name, a pause that makes it just as clear that the dislike is mutual.

"Hey, Cas," he claps other man on the shoulder and tries to ignore the flutter of something in the pit of his stomach at the way that Castiel looks at him, the heat in blues eyes that seems to imply that he knows the hunter far better than he should and that the dreams are more than just the vague half wish of a life lived fighting beside this man.

"Mr. Adler sent me to ask that you join him on the golf course in the morning," Castiel says, drawing him out of his train of thought, and Dean grins. This is what he has been angling for since he got here but the elation he feels is hollow, short lived, and an awful lot like the realisation that this is not something that he really wants. Castiel nods, not seeming to want a reply, and walks in the opposite direction, head tilted as though he is listening to something. Dean can practically _feel_ Victor's dislike of the man rolling off him, but he does not comment. It is not the time for it and he simply raises eyebrows at his companion as they resume their journey upwards.

To the end of his days Dean knows that he will swear he never expected to find an _actual_ ghost in the Sandover Building.

SPN

Gabriel is sipping a mohito when Hecate finally tracks him down in a bar that is far too close to Zachariah's game with Dean Winchester for her tastes, this probably means that the archangel is _over_ compensating for his freak out earlier and this cannot be a good thing. If she is honest this trick of Zachariah's is the sort that would give Gabriel, with his centuries of experience, a run for his money. The other angel is apparently far more skilled at the art of mind fuckery than Hecate had ever given him credit for and this is not something that she is going to mention to Gabriel.

"Is there a reason you're sat here tempting fate?" She asks, signalling for her own drink and settling on the bar stool next to him. He flinches as though he expects her to start mocking his earlier honesty and Hecate knows that she might not be quite all there, she spends most of her time with an _archangel_ these days after all, but she values Gabriel's friendship and is not going to hurt him like that. The words do not need to be said, though, because one way or another he will understand. She talks to the other pagans, it does not mean that she likes them.

"Just wanted a drink," he mutters. Like the rest of her kind, and now Gabriel through excessive training, Hecate likes her food and drink sweet. Baileys is her current tipple of choice and she takes a sip as her companion speaks, eyeing the collection of glasses around him.

"Gabriel, are you sure you want to do this?" She asks instead. "You could always ask them to take you back if not. It isn't too late for us to stop what we're doing." He is staring at her, eyes large and a little incredulous.

"Do _you_ want to stop this? Do you want to watch while the Winchesters let the world burn and my family slaughter each other needlessly?" The words are hissed too low for the bars occupants to hear them, but Hecate is a goddess and she can hear far better than the average human. "I want this to be _over_, Hecate, I don't want any more of my brothers blood on my hands and I'm certainly not going to help them in their mindless quest to destroy one another."

"Good to know," she mutters, watching as Gabriel's eyes slide from her and to a couple across the room. The man is completely unknown to her, but she is aware that he is an object of some attention to the trickster archangel because the woman _is_ familiar. The woman is one of his so called 'playmates' and that makes the man a target for one of Gabriel's 'moral lessons'.

She places her hand over his and squeezes gently, watching as he shifts under her grasp and looks back at her. His hand turns under hers so that he can intertwine their fingers, blood essence and disguised grace can lace together in the same way.

"So what's he done?" She asks, turning the subject to the more comfortable one of the man who has caught Gabriel's attention.

"Adulterer," the archangel supplies simply and she quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Adultery? You're not reverting to your old ways, surely?" She grins at him, softening words that could be incredulous. The archangel shrugs.

"I needed a pick me up," his brunette plaything giggles, "he just happened to present himself at _just_ the right moment."

"So what's the punch line?" Hecate waves her free hand in signal to the bar man for another drink, head still turned so that she can look over her shoulder as the man places a kiss on the bare shoulder of Gabriel's illusion.

"Why don't you stick around and find out?" He smirks and quirks his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Because watching people have sex isn't my idea of a good time," she responds.

"If they _get_ that far I'm not doing my job right," he tells her confidently. She snorts at him taking another drink and staring down at their joined hands, the way that the black red of her magic mixes with the false chocolate of his disguised grace, opening her mouth to say something and starting when Gabriel speaks again.

"They're leaving," he mutters, "come on." He does not release her hand as he stands, pulling her to her feet and taking her to a parking lot somewhere across town. He settles himself on the hood of a Prius, helping Hecate to sit next to him and conjuring a large bowl of sticky sweet popcorn as he turns the window of the motel room into a giant screen so that they can watch.

"Pervert," she tells him, helping herself to a handful of popcorn from the bowl when he offers it and watching as the couple slip into the motel room of choice.

"I was repressed for millennia," Gabriel points out, wrapping an arm about her shoulders and pulling her a little closer as they watch, lips ghosting over her ears as he speaks again. "Let me enjoy the perks of freedom."

"Stop that," she slaps him lightly on the chest, watching as clothes are hastily removed by target and illusion alike.

"Make me," he challenges and leans closer to her as she tries to move away a little.

"I thought we were here to watch," she pushes a little tilting her head at the show in front of her. "I want to see the joke."

"I see you have furthered your unholy alliance, Gabriel," a depressingly familiar voice says and the archangel groans as he drops his head onto his companion's shoulder, the playmate vanishing and the adulterer's stunned cries carrying into the parking lot as he over balances and falls on his face. Hecate would find it amusing but for the fact that she is wondering how many more times Castiel is going to try to kill her in the near future.

"What do you want, bro?" Gabriel asks, obviously trying for cheerful and only just succeeding.

"Zachariah is aware of your presence," Castiel responds, sparing a glare for Hecate and she considers sticking her tongue out at him. "Or at least, of the Trickster you're impersonating."

"And you came to warn me, how sweet," Gabriel's eyes are wide and almost owl like in the half light of the parking lot as he tilts his head and smirks. "I can handle Heaven's top bureaucrat."

"And remain hidden as you are?" Castiel shakes his head. "I would rather not challenge you, brother."

"You won't have to," Hecates jumps in, sensing the danger here. "We're leaving _now_. Thank you, Castiel, for the warning." She can see the angel's surprise at her genuine gratitude, at the fact that she would willingly address him in such a way and that she inclines her head as she speaks in a sign of respect. Gabriel does no such thing, grumbling about uppity young angels and pagans who have forgotten their place. Hecate ignores him, simply vanishes and trusts that Gabriel has done the same.

SPN

Zachariah is annoyed with Castiel, he knows that the lower angel is developing a loyalty to Dean that may one day prove to be problematic, he is well aware that Dean's loss of faith and heart is down to Uriel's inability to _wait_ until the right moment to approach Castiel and get him on side for this apocalyptic push, and he also knows that there is no way that Castiel would have been able to talk Dean into going back to hunting after everything that Alistair had told him.

Really the torturing of the demon should have been kept to one side until _after_ the final seal has been opened but he will chalk this up to being a learning curve and let it be for now.

This make believe world that he has created for Dean, a place where the hunter is just a normal man thrust into extraordinary situations is a good one. Likely one that he will use again in the future if Dean decides to be difficult about his destiny. In a perfect world Sam would have been here as a foil to Dean's high flying business man. Instead he has been forced to use Henriksen far earlier than he had intended to as the eager voice to pull Dean back in. The angel had never dreamed that the former FBI agent would do such a good job of it, but rather than wanting to settle into this normal life that he could have had, the man is desperate to get back out there and start hunting, to save the world in a way that he has never been able to before.

Better yet, he will be able to steer Dean in the right direction, will be able to keep an eye on the hunter and the angel assigned to him so that Zachariah will know if Castiel really is getting too attached to his human charge.

He has to marvel at the sheer boneheadedness of the man, though, when Victor offers him a chance to go out into the world, to ghost hunt, and Dean turns him down flat. Perhaps Zachariah has done too good a job of making the hunter into a practical and straight flying man. There was no mistaking the utter glee on Dean's face, however, when he defeated his first spirit as Dean Smith.

So he goes to Dean, as Adler, and makes him an offer. Long days, no breaks but a future as high in the company as the man would ever be able to go along with a big bonus. Really the bonus is over generous and he knows that is what tips it. Dean shakes his head, refuses, hands in his notice over the destruction of one ghost and Zachariah is almost proud of that as he passes his fingers over Dean's forehead and watches the confusion descend.

"Wait. Did I, did I just get touched by," Zachariah can almost see the pieces fall into place in the man's mind, "you're an angel, aren't you?" There is something accusatory in Dean's voice, something broken and dismayed and the angel wishes that he could beat it out of the man but knows that such a method is not what is needed here.

"I'm Zachariah," he introduces himself, not sure what reaction he is hoping for, but certainly one a little more respectful than he gets even though Castiel has told him in the past of the man's utter disrespect for anything angel.

"Oh, great. That's all I need is another one of you guys."

"I'm hardly another one, Dean. I'm Castiel's superior. Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here into one of these smelly things," he gestures to his vessel, the one that he picked out to recruit Henriksen though Dean does not need to know that just yet. "But after the unfortunate situation with Uriel, I felt it necessary to pay a visit. Get my ducks in a row."

"I'm not one of your ducks," Dean snaps.

"Starting with your attitude," he all but hisses and he hates that he has to explain all of this, hates that he has to tell Dean that even though the man has daddy issues and feels that he is not worthy and not capable of this he has a destiny that he will fulfil. Dean _is_ the weapon that they will wield in this war, the one that will make all the difference and if Castiel had not messed up so badly then they would not even be having this conversation.

That Dean fell back into hunting even as a man with no memory of it, that he did it so well with no training other than the muscle memory of _years_ of practice, allows Zachariah to convince Dean that this is what he was born to do, that this is the reason that he is so good at what it is that he does. The elder Winchester gets to make a huge difference in the world, even under the command of the angels, and he gets to do it without having to change any of his core personality traits as much as they disgust Zachariah on occasion.

That Dean would agree is a given, Zachariah knew that this could not fail and even summoning Castiel to do the demeaning job of taking Dean to his car is another way of making his point. Zachariah is the one in charge and neither one of them can ever forget it.

Dean's displeasure at discovering he has to work with Henriksen from now on, however, makes this whole trip completely worth all the energy spent.

_As I said, Gabriel and Hecate are obviously doing something when I'm not looking. I'll rectify it one day._

_Artemis  
_


	12. The Monster At The End Of This Book

_First of all, massive apologies out to all. Writers block is a killer and I will find a way to destroy it. When I first started this I thought that this chapter would actually be the easiest to write. Turns out I may have been wrong about that. It was a killer. Also have to add that due to my convention this weekend (hell yes! am I going to a Supernatural convention!) I will probably have a little trouble focusing on the next chapter. There's only about three left now though and another story (or two) already in the works._

The Monster At The End Of This Book.

Victor Henriksen has to admit that working with Dean is very different to his experience with Dom or his former FBI colleagues. Dean is a man haunted by memories and nightmares, a man far older than the thirty years since his first birth. When Victor looks at him he can see the burn of Hell in the younger man's eyes, the pain of decades buried under a facade of a man who tries not to care what others think, a man different from the one Henriksen first met. When he compares Dean to his former companion it is not difficult to see the differences. Dom was utterly confident of her place in the universe, sometimes in a way that was almost terrifying, certain in her way of doing things. Dean is a man almost permanently crippled by self doubt and self loathing, even after the lesson dealt by Zachariah.

Dean drinks constantly, sipping sporadically from his hip flask during the day and drowning himself with the better part of a bottle of whisky at night. The former agent knows that Dean has reason to drink if his traumatised screams in the night are anything to go by, but it does not stop him being sceptical about the fact that the man is supposed to be the world's saviour. It does not make him feel all that much safer in a car with him either.

Fact of it is, Victor has been order to keep an eye on Dean, to make sure he sticks to the script and continues with the task that the angels raised him for. It is not the easiest of things. Even knowing that this is the way that things are meant to be and that he has a chance to fix the terrible mistake he made in Hell Dean is still struggling to carry on. It makes Henriksen wonder if maybe the memories of Hell are what weighs Dean down so heavily, then you add his failure with Sam and it is apparent that the hunter is a man with far too much weight on his shoulders. It is not something that Victor envies.

At the moment Dean has him researching the series of _Supernatural_ books written by Carver Edlund, a name that Henriksen is positive is a pen name, and the former FBI agent cannot see the point in it. Sure the names of the lead characters are identical to those of the Winchester brothers, but that could be little more than a coincidence. Apparently Dean does not believe in those and Victor can admit that it is a little strange to hear Dean marvelling over just how _right_ this author has gotten things about his family.

Thinking on the things that he knows about Dean's past and the stories that Dom told him about the feats of the Winchester family, Victor can actually admit that he can see how this could be a little bit creepy, or a lot creepy, to discover your entire life in a book. Even the incident with Sam letting Ruby kill that innocent girl way back when Henriksen still believed this was all a delusion is in there and he is surprised to realise that Dean knows about it and does not blame his brother.

"We need to find out who this guy is," Dean mutters and they rarely have actual conversations as opposed to stilted discussion. "You got anything on his publisher?"

They do not work _well_ together, but Henriksen's mind had moved in the same direction anyway so he already has the information to hand when he looks at the younger man. Dean looks exhausted and the former agent knows that he has probably gotten very little sleep in the last few days, switching between drinking, driving, and trying to contact Sam to let him know about this development. He would wonder how Dean has kept going this long since his rise from the grave living on bad diner food, alcohol and one or two hours of broken sleep a night, except that he knows the answer to that because it is the second part of his assignment.

Victor Henriksen is to find out just how close Castiel has gotten to his charge.

He is beginning to think that the angel could care less about Dean sometimes, because he is rarely around and when he does pop in to check on them he remains only long enough to throw a filthy look at the former agent before vanishing. However, there are other times, times when Henriksen will leave Dean alone while he fetches supplies or dinner, times when he will walk into the motel room and find Dean sat on the bed with his head in his hands and Castiel sat so close that they are touching. Those are the times that he knows that the angel is closer to Dean than he should be.

He still does not like the angel, has not liked him since the Zachariah picked Henriksen up out of the car wreck and he knows that it is because Castiel is so socially awkward. Dean does not seem to mind, however, and even though Zachariah seems concerned by how close the two of them are, even Victor can see that the angel is good for the hunter. When Castiel spends time with Dean, the younger man is a little less broken for a short time, he sleeps and he functions if only for a moment. He sleeps because Castiel puts him to sleep and he functions because he sleeps, but Henriksen knows that the angel has another motive behind helping the hunter.

He also has no intention of telling Zachariah what he has figured out, because he does not think that the superior angel needs to know just yet. Besides, he may not have any actual loyalty to Dean and he cannot bring himself to like the socially awkward angel, but it would be cruel to take the one thing that actually gives the younger man a semblance of peace. If he thinks that he sees something else in the angel's expression when he leaves, Victor never mentions it because sometimes he sees it mirrored in the hunter's eyes. It makes him wonder how one who has suffered as Dean has can still find it in them to love.

He is less baffled about the fact that neither Dean nor Castiel has noticed it. As he has previously observed Castiel is socially inept and an angel on top of it all, it stands to reason that he would not know or understand this, and as for Dean, the hunter is too broken, too downtrodden by Hell and circumstances beyond his control to be able to see that he deserves something like this, something pure and untainted. Dean is too hurt to understand that someone who knows the things that he did in the pit is the perfect person to comfort and love him. So Victor will not say anything, because he doubts anything will ever come of it and if it _does_ he will cross the bridge then.

At the moment, however, his aim has to be to find this Carver Edlund and find out just how much about Dean's life, and Sam's, he knows. Find out how he is doing it, because if the guy really _has_ been able to tap into the brother's existence all these years Victor cannot help but be convinced that it has something to do with the angels and the last thing that they need is for Dean to start sticking his nose in where it does not belong again.

Unfortunately the last person that Henriksen, and Zachariah, wants to see around Dean turns up at the publishers office. Sam meets them outside, hair hanging in too long bangs across his forehead and into his face and eyes dark with anger and power. This is not the broken man that Victor met in Monument, this is someone else entirely.

"Where's your pet demon?" Dean asks after they have greeted one another awkwardly and Sam stares at Henriksen warily.

"She had things to do," the younger responds, evading the question and seeming surprised when Dean shrugs and does not pursue it. The former FBI agent supposes that the youngest brother simply had not realised how much Hell had gotten to Dean, how much Dean went through in the pit. He is starting to think that no matter what Dean may believe and the way he tries to get his brother to come back, the young hunter may well be better off without his brother. As the three of them enter the publishers office Sam throws him a dark look, one that promises death and pain if Henriksen so much as thinks of interfering. Suddenly he wonders if the demon that Sam runs with has had more of an effect on the boy than he had thought.

SPN

Carver Edlund turns out to be a small man with self grooming issues name Chuck Shirley. A small man who is obviously _very_ freaked out by the fact that his apparent characters have walked up to his front door and proceeded to demand answers and who is not entirely sure what to make of them. Chuck Shirley is not exactly what they were expecting to find, though Dean supposes that he was not entirely sure _what_ he had thought he would find. It has brought Sam back to him, however, if only for a moment, and Dean knows that he is going to have to make the best of this because he gets the feeling that as soon as Sam has gotten whatever answers have brought him here he will be back off to Ruby's side and away from the brother who was not strong enough to last a century in Hell, the brother who let Lillith _start_ this whole apocalypse.

Chuck's expression is something crossed between fearful and pitying when he looks at Dean, wary when he takes in Henriksen and terrified when he meets Sam's eyes. If the little guy really _is_ tapping into their lives Dean really hates to think about the things that he may have seen. Right now, however, the smaller man is too busy wallowing in his own confusion and misery and Dean wants to shake him and demand to know how the hell he is doing this, except that even the unkempt man does not seem to know, just knows that somehow he has tapped into their lives and he does not like the fact that it is real.

Dean does not like it all that much either, but it is Sam's reaction that has the older Winchester the most worried. Sam gets his quiet look, the angry pinched face that he used to show their father in the days before Stanford. It is the kind of anger that always ends in a fight, always ends in pain for someone and Dean worries that it will be an agony for Chuck. He knows he has to get Sam out of there, so he asks to borrow Chuck's recent work, the story that the small man has written himself into and even though the books are no longer published that takes a pair of big brass ones. He wishes that he had some way of getting hold of Cas, of talking to the angel about all of this and seeing what he knows because Castiel would tell him. Castiel would help him. He cannot help but suspect that Henriksen's presence has something to do with Cas backing away.

In the quiet of his own mind he is happy enough to admit that it hurts, seeing it written on paper makes him wonder how much of his own mental processing is safe from Chuck the Bearded Wonder. He starts scanning through it as he leans on the Impala waiting for Henriksen. Truth be told he would really rather not have Sam and the former agent in the car together but it cannot be helped, that is how they got here and that is how they will be leaving.

"_I think it's really great, what you're doing for them," Carver murmured as he gathered a few loose pieces of paper. "Dean doesn't have a lot of people out there he can rely on these days."_

"_Yeah, well Sam isn't exactly stable at the moment," Victor scratched idly at his chin for a moment. "I don't like the guy, but he helps Dean with Hell. The man's supposed to save the world."_

"_Just don't," Carver paused, looked up at his taller companion and winced as the first pangs of inspiration hit him once more, "don't let Zachariah find out, okay? He hears even a hint that Castiel's helping Dean keep his head on straight..."_

Dean frowns as he lets the page drop, watching the companion the superior angel had forced upon him come down the stairs towards him. So far as the hunter can tell the house is silent but given Chuck's track record he can be fairly certain that the conversation between FBI agent and author had really just happened and the hunter has no idea how to take that, no idea how to interpret their view on his relationship with Cas.

He and Castiel are friends, Dean actually believes that he can trust the angel, but reading this and finding out that he has been disobeying orders to help a lowly human who broke in Hell hurts for some reason. Suddenly his inability to cope with the consequences of his own actions has hit him harder than anything else has in a long time. He is dragging Castiel into the mud with him, the angel is disobeying for him, and that is not something that Dean can allow. He does not want his friend to be hurt because of him and he cannot allow it to keep on happening. His desire to see the angel morphs from wanting to ask the powerful being for help to wanting to tell him to _stop_ putting himself at risk for a man so broken, a man so destroyed.

"Dean," Sam's terse voice calls him out of his contemplation of the sheets of paper covered in suddenly incomprehensible words. He turns to look at his brother and the tense anger melts from the younger man's face for a moment, replaced with that same soft concern and almost pity that Dean remembers from before Hell, an expression he has been half convinced these last few months that he had imagined. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he pulls off the top sheet of paper, crumpling it up and shoving it into the pocket of his old leather jacket before getting into the car and handing the remains of the manuscript to Sam. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"You looked a little spooked," Sam admits, eyeing Henriksen warily as the older man slides into the back seat of the car like he has been travelling with them all his life.

"This whole situation?" He points out. "Little freaky, Sam," and Sam throws a bitchface at him and if only for a moment Dean can feel normal, Dean can push the whole thing with Castiel to the back of his mind and just enjoy the feeling of having his brother close again. It cannot last because at this point they do not know what to make of Chuck and only have the remaining manuscript to work off.

The next day the pair of them wind up back at Chuck's, Henriksen abandoned them earlier that morning with a dark look in Sam's direction and Dean can honestly admit that he feels he can breathe a little more easily without the former Fed there. He can feel a little more secure about Sam surviving as well, which is stupid really because Sam has shown that he is more than capable of taking care of himself and Dean knows that he will always worry about his younger brother regardless of how much time they spend apart.

Chuck looks terrible, and the hunter recognises the signs of a man who has had too much to drink the night before and is feeling the after effects. The little man takes a few deep breaths, looking between Sam and Dean with the kind of trapped expression that says that he really does not want to be doing this, that he does not want to be having this conversation but that he really has no choice. When Dean hears the news that the little man is baring he is almost glad that Chuck spoke up, except that everything of his they have read in the past has happened, including the events of the day before, and he is positive that Sam having passionate sex with Lillith is _not_ at the top of his list of things that he wants to happen. From his little brother's expression it is fairly low on Sam's list too.

Besides, _fiery demonic passion_, seriously.

"Perfect, so what happens after?" He asks, ignoring Sam's bitch glare at the insinuation that he would go along with something so _obviously_ contrary to their actual goal. Said goal being stop Lillith and prevent the apocalypse, though Dean knows that Sam is still gunning for having _revenge against the Trickster_ in there with it all somewhere.

"I don't know, it hasn't come to me yet," Chuck admits and that sounds worryingly familiar when coupled with the wrung out expression and the veritable plethora of empty bottles dotted around the house. So Dean asks the question, asks how these things are thought up even though he knows he will not like the answer. "Well, it usually starts with a headache. A really bad headache. Aspirin is useless, so... I drink. Until I fall asleep. The first time it happened, I thought it was just a crazy dream."

He knew he would not like it, the process sounds too like the headaches Sam would get with his visions to be coincidence. He takes the manuscript, wants to know what he is up against, what leads to Sam and Lillith in bed together, and drags his brother from the house. In actual fact Dean is determined to get out of town, away from this place and the strange little man who seems to have been writing their lives for them. Sam does not like this plan, he knows this, but it does not stop the hunter from trying as Sam reads the pages and mocks the pink flower band-aids and the tarp over the back of the Impala.

When getting out does not work, and it would appear that Sam has gotten what he wants there, Dean tries to get off book. That does not exactly go according to plan either, starting with collecting Henriksen and ending with ditching Sam at the motel while Dean takes a walk to try and clear his head. Victor tells him that he is an idiot and retires to his own motel room to get some sleep, remaining on book because as far as he seems to be concerned whatever Chuck has said will happen is going to and there is not point in trying to change it. Dean silently curses at Castiel in the safety of his own head as he walks and does not see the mini-van until it actually hits him.

When he comes too it is in the middle of the road and he can see stars, literally. A quick glance in a mirror tells him all that he needs to know and he is speeding to Chuck's, tarp snapping over the smashed window at the back of his car and pink floral band-aids fluttering into the wind. It is all too much to comprehend, that the man has this much insight into their lives and his knowledge is dangerous to them all.

Getting into Chuck's house is easy, the little man is almost terrified of him and Dean is feeling _more_ in this moment of anger than he has felt in far too long. It wakes something deep in him that is dark and twisted, something that he became when he was in Hell and running from the victim he had allowed himself to become. He does not think as he pushes the scruffy looking man against the wall, as he uses his height and his weight to put pressure on him.

"How the hell are you doing this?" He demands and it is almost a relief to know that he can feel something like this, something that he is not afraid to put a name to and something that is not the desperate need to be wanted and loved that he feels around his angel.

"Dean, let him go!" The hunter turns at the sound of his friend's voice, eyes laced with fury and questioning and he sees something in the angel shift, something that seems a lot like surprise as he demands an answer. "This man is to be protected, he's a Prophet of the Lord."

There is a moment of stunned silence as Dean stares at the angel, as Chuck stutters on his own breath and comes to terms with the fact that there is an _angel_ in his front room, because from the way that he shuffles to his chair and takes a long pull from his whisky he is already aware of the whole prophet thing. He is also already aware that it sounds utterly ludicrous. Except that Castiel is utterly convinced of it, is _honoured_ to be meeting the little man, and that leaves Dean more than a little baffled, more than a little incredulous.

"This is the guy who decides our fate?" He snaps, feeling something unclench inside him as he does so and the brief return of everything that he once was and everything that he could be.

"He isn't deciding anything. He's a mouthpiece, a conduit for the inspired word," Castiel is still paging through one of the books as he speaks, his forehead furrowed as he frowns down at the words and explains in that gravelled voice of his the Winchester Gospels and Chuck's significance. The so called prophet excuses himself rather rapidly at that point and though Dean still cannot quite believe what he is hearing, he cannot say that he blames the little guy.

He would also feel better about the whole thing if Cas knew more about how it all works. All that the angel appears to know is that someone _very_ high up makes the decision to activate the prophets and that once the man has spoken, there is no way that his word will not come to pass. They cannot stop this.

"Dammit, Cas, there has to be a way!" Dean hisses finally, fingers clenching in the angel's trench coat as though he fears that the being will fly away without answering. The look Castiel gives him in return is filled with sincerity, compassion, as he closes his own fingers over Dean's and removes the hunter's hand with a tenderness that he almost should not be capable of.

"There is nothing that I can do, Dean, not here," his voice softens for a moment, "not now." He steps closer, eyes flickering upwards slightly and the hunter can read the meaning there. "It's good, however, to see you passionate about this once more." There is a slight curve to the angel's lips in that moment, a smile that is not quite a smile and Dean gets it, he understands.

He feels that knot in his gut go a little tighter and a warmth at the thought that Castiel really might give a damn about his well being. Then he is alone in the prophet's sitting room and he is left to find a way of protecting Sam. Somehow he does not think it is going to be as easy as he wanted it to be.

SPN

Castiel is slipping, he knows this. He is not taking the care that he once would have to ensure that he does not get seen or caught in his aiding of Dean. He knows that it is only a matter of time before his actions are picked up upon by Zachariah, after all the superior angel has Victor Henriksen in his employ and Henriksen has seen Dean and Castiel together, but it does not stop him from thinking about Dean's desperation to save Sam from Lillith.

When he thinks about it he knows that he would do the same as Dean were their positions reversed. He knows that were he to be offered a chance to save those brothers and sisters slaughtered by Uriel a chance at survival he would do the same. He knows that if he does not help Dean now, no matter what he has done for the hunter in the past, the man will never trust him again and if they are to beat Lillith, he needs Dean to trust him. Which is when he realises that he does not need Dean's _trust_, he just needs _Dean_. He knows that he is far too attached to the human now, that he has given far too much in the way of emotion to the damaged mortal and that is dangerous for him to have done.

If he gets caught he knows that the punishment will be severe, probably deadly, but Dean needs him and there is a part of him that does not want to say no.

When Dean begins to actually pray for an out, he can feel elation soar through him. Prayer is what he has been aiming for since he began to sit with Dean in the evenings, since he began to help the man to sleep and began to allow himself to become more emotionally invested than is advisable. Except that he cannot give the outright answers that Dean wants, he cannot go against his Father's word. If it has been decreed that it must be so Castiel cannot go against that because it will prove to be deadly to him. He does not actually care all that much about his own life, in the grand scheme of things he is not important, but he _does_ care about Dean, does worry about what will happen to the hunter if he is not there to look out for him.

He only hopes that the man is smart enough to work out the clues Castiel is about to give him.

"You must understand why I can't intercede," he hisses when he knows that he has Dean's attention. "Prophets are very special. They're protected."

"I get that," the hunter points out and Castiel honestly believes that he does, but at the same time the angel knows that Dean cannot possibly be aware of the full extent of Chuck's importance.

"If anything threatens a prophet," he hisses, careful not to get too close to Dean and staring steadily at a man so full of life and need once more that it makes his soul sing, "anything at all, an archangel will appear to destroy that threat." He sees Dean swallow, sees some of the fire dim in the man's eyes as he continues to speak, continues to hope that the hunter will understand what Castiel is trying to say without saying. "Archangels are fierce, they're absolute. They're heaven's most terrifying weapon."

"And these archangels, they're tied to prophets," he can see the pieces starting to fall into place as he confirms Dean's simple assumption with a single word. "So if a prophet was in the same room as a demon.."

"Then the most fearsome wrath of heaven would rain down on that demon," the angel finishes with a brief glance upwards and he can feel the faintest trace of a smile on his lips as he continues. "Just so you understand why I can't help." Dean's eyes seem to light up at that, at the understanding that in his own way Castiel is giving him the aid that he so badly needs and that he knows how to bend his way around the limitations of language and his position in order to do so.

"Thanks, Cas," Dean whispers, the flash of genuine gratitude in his eyes and his hand twitches before he rests it on the angel's shoulder, almost like he is not sure that Castiel will welcome it and the angel leans into the touch slightly as he wishes the hunter luck. Then Dean is gone to find Chuck and save his brother and Castiel _knows_ that there is going to be fall out from this.

He knows because he flicked through some of the prophet's papers, he knows because he saw some of the things that the little man wrote, and he knows because his deepening friendship with Dean has been a subject of much musing and insinuation across the pages.

Castiel does not let it worry him, not when he feels the flare of Raphael so close and the desperate flee of Lillith from the unfortunate woman chosen as a host. He does not even let it worry him overly when he hears Zachariah's summons.

_Did I just leave it on a cliffie? And I just realised that there was no Gabe or Hecate in this one. They'll be in the next chapter, I promise._

_Artemis  
_


	13. When The Levee Breaks

_I seem to be apologising all the time. I wouldn't be at all surprised if everyone had gotten bored of waiting for this and gone off to find something better to read. I don't think I can even blame the convention except for the fact that I think Mark may have run away with my brain... Actually I wouldn't be too surprised by that, my soul already belongs to Misha so he had to take _something_ off me. I digress, but the convention was brilliant and my head is still squeeing each time I think of it._

_I may have taken a vast number of liberties with this, in fact I know I have.  
_

When The Levee Breaks.

Castiel knows that he is in trouble, that he has been trapped in this room sealed against his kind by his own superior and this can never be a good thing. He has no idea how much actual time has passed, he has no way to measure the passage of time as a human would and the sigils and seals that hold him in place also prevent him from discovering it through his grace, all he knows is that he has quite probably been in here for quite some time. He wonders if Dean is at all concerned for him.

"I suppose you know why you're here," Zachariah says as he approaches. Castiel remains silent, trains the blue eyes of his vessel upon the two suited angels who stand watchfully over their superior. "Disobedience, the gravest of all our sins." Still the angel remains silent. "You're not going to defend yourself? No futile outbursts? You're not even going to _try_ to protest your innocence?"

"You appear to have already reached your conclusion," Castiel breaks his silence, keeps his expression as hard and as impassive as he knows how. "It would be pointless to try and change it."

"Ever practical," Zachariah snorts, "it's what I liked about you, you were obedient, _loyal_. I'm disappointed, Castiel."

"I did what I thought right," the angel tilts his chin defiantly, knows there is little use in allowing the fear that infuses him to show in his demeanor. The decision is made and he should accept his death with pride so that the others might see that leaving Dean to suffer was needlessly cruel and detrimental to their plans. "I am ready to meet my death."

"Oh, _Castiel_," the higher angel almost purrs and it sends a shiver through Cas, the pulse of concern that he has come to recognise since his descent into questioning. "Killing you, while the _right_ thing to do, would give Dean a _very_ poor opinion of us and we can't have that at the moment. Unfortunately."

"What are you going to do instead?" Castiel asks as he feels the arms of his vessel taken by two other angels and sees his superior coming towards him, face twisted in a hard grin and eyes glinting with grace and righteous anger.

It is the agony that races through him which tells him what they are doing. It is the anguish as his grace is torn from him and the soul of the vessel expelled so that Castiel is alone and powerless in this shell. Castiel is alone and _human_ and Dean is not going to be happy when he finds out. The angel only hopes that his replacement will not let all the work he put into helping Dean overcome his nightmares and guilt go to waste.

He hopes that Dean will not forget him once this is all over.

SPN

Victor Henriksen does not think he has seen Dean quite so frantic before. Castiel was dumped in their motel room in the middle of the night, unconscious and disturbingly naked, three days ago. He is still unconscious, though they have put him in a bed, and even Henriksen has to admit that he is concerned. He knows that this is a punishment of some kind, he only hopes that this is not what he fears it is.

He and Dean are arguing about putting Castiel into the car and moving on, or moving to Bobby Singer's place, because they cannot very well take the angel to a hospital and they cannot stay in this motel without attracting attention either. Dean is against it, wants to wait until the angel wakes up and can tell them what happened.

"Guess he's not as sneaky as I thought," a woman comments from beside the bed, dark eyes staring down at Castiel's all but motionless form and black red hair caught loosely at the nape of her neck. Both men have their guns on her without a moment of thought. "Somebody's been a _very_ bad boy."

"Who the _hell_ are you?" Dean demands and she smiles at him.

"Not quite," she replies, raising her eyebrows at the weapons. "I'm Hecate." There is a brightness to the way that she says her name that makes Henriksen tighten his grip on his gun even though Dean swears and lowers his. "May as well put the pop guns away, gentlemen, only ones you'll hurt with them are yourselves."

"What do you want?" The hunter demands, setting his gun in easy reach and his eyes hostile. Evidently the younger man knows something about Hecate that Victor does not and he dearly wishes to know what it is.

"I came to give you a warning," she says, eyes hardening as she turns from the unconscious angel, "about your little brother."

"Sam?" Dean demands.

"Unless you have another _living_ little brother I'm not aware of," she smirks. "Ruby's leading Sam down a dangerous path, Dean. Although I doubt that your former angel is even aware of how she's keeping control of him."

"So tell us how she's doing it," Henriksen interjects. Hecate looks him up and down, her eyes cold and sparking with something black red.

"I don't like you," she says, her head tilting slightly before she seems to catch herself, "you don't belong." Her attention turns back to Dean. "Your precious brother seems to have become quite the little vampire, with a taste for demons. You might want to try and do something about that."

There is a long pause.

"You think Sam's drinking blood?" Dean's voice is incredulous, his eyes shining with his sincere belief that Sam would never stoop that low. Wisely Henriksen keeps the opinion that it would not surprise him completely private. The flicker of sympathy on the woman's face is apparently genuine as she touches a finger to Dean's cheek, watches him flinch almost impassively.

"I know he is, Dean," she whispers, tracing a design on the younger hunter's cheek then kissing her finger and placing it gently in what would be the centre. "You need to stop him."

She is gone between one breath and the next and for a long moment neither man speaks, too stunned by her insinuations and the sudden rush of nothingness when she leaves. Victor's argument for leaving, he realises, has been won. In the battle between Dean's love for Sam and his unidentifiable feeling for his angel, the former Fed knows that Sam will win every time, because Sam has been the central focus of Dean's entire life from a young age.

They bundle Castiel up, feel him stir and the first hint of a sound come from his throat as they all but carry him to the car. Henriksen knows that Dean would much rather give Cas a chance to wake up before they do this, that he would prefer that he could get some form of verification from the angel. Trouble is, Dean has been trying to contact Sam the last few days to ask him if he's heard anything, if he has any ideas about what may have happened to the angel. Sam has not been answering, has not been talking, and that, if nothing else, lends weight to Hecate's words.

Castiel finally awakens when they are three hours away from Bobby's, blue eyes snapping open and voice cracking with disuse. For a moment Henriksen thinks that the angel will thank them and vanish, knows that Dean thinks it too, sees a weight lift from the hunter's shoulders as the angel returns to the land of the living.

From the anguish on Castiel's face, Henriksen concludes that the relief is going to be short lived and the truth is going to be far more painful than any of them are prepared to carry.

SPN

Hecate cannot help but think that she and Gabriel are doing something wrong in all of this. That by helping the angels end the world she is betraying her own kind. The truth of it all is that she feels that they have lived for too long, existed for so long that they are no longer capable of change or growth and their existence is utterly stagnated. It is time to go somewhere new and start over, it is perhaps long _past_ time.

Thing of it all is, she has spent too long associating with her fellows to go anywhere alone. She fears the loneliness and the emptiness of a fresh start and she knows that this is one of the reasons that she has decided to give Dean a fighting chance against the future.

"I'm surprised you didn't order them to kneel before you," Gabriel mutters from his seat. They are both back in the safe house and it has become more of a home to the two of them over the past few weeks than anything else in the last six decades or so.

"We both know how they would have responded to that," she plops down into her own seat, "and I do like this dress." Gabriel rolls his eyes at her.

"How did Castiel look?" He asks after a long pause. Dark eyes turn distant.

"Terrible. Zachariah did a real number on him. I'll almost be surprised if he wakes up."

"He will," the archangel seems absolutely certain of that, positive that Castiel will manage to become a semi functional member of humanity even under Dean's tutelage.

"Do you think we've done enough?" She questions, staring up at the ceiling and tracing the tiny cracks in the plaster as she waits for a response. They have been manipulating everything that they can get close to and she knows that the closer they get to the final seal the nearer they get to Michael and Lucifer having to go up against one another and the harder it is going to be to get the outcome they want.

"I don't know," the words are barely above a whisper, but she hears them anyway, understands them and sees the doubt in Gabriel's eyes before he speaks again. "Are we doing the right thing?" He asks and she does not have an answer for him, cannot have an answer to give him because she has been asking the same question of herself ever since the motel parking lot and the warmth that had snuck up on her when Gabriel had wrapped her in his arms.

Instead she shuffles closer to him and it is apparently all the response that he needed from her because he sighs and snaps them up a glass of Baileys each.

"We can find ourselves a nice little planet," she offers after a moment, "start over, get away from our families."

"Orange grass," he tells her and she sniggers.

"I thought we'd agreed on purple years ago," he shrugs.

"Things change, this decade I like orange." There is something blithe about his tone, but Hecate knows that he is trying to cover for his doubts. "Besides, it'll go beautifully with the yellow sky." She stares at him for a long moment and then begins to laugh, she cannot help it when he looks at her so earnestly. "I'm serious!" He protests and she shakes her head as he mutters at her. She knows that he is not really annoyed with her, that he is simply running from the very problem that brought him to her in the first place, and she wishes that she could tell him that they really _are_ doing the right thing except that she has her own doubts right now and is not finding it all that easy to reconcile them in her mind.

After all, if they succeed the world is going to burn.

SPN

Dean does not know who to be more angry at. He does not know if it should be Castiel, for disobeying and getting caught, Zachariah for stripping the angel of all that made him or _God_, for allowing it to happen in the first place. Only to add to his general confusion and frustration is the insinuation that his baby brother has been gulping down the blood of demons and though that would explain a lot about the last months, it does not sit well with Dean's impression of his brother.

It makes him realise how little he really knows about Sam since his time in Hell and makes him wonder if that is _his_ fault or that of the younger man. Dean has not been right since his trip downstairs and though he cannot blame Sam for turning his back, the older man finds it hard to believe that he would do the same if the positions were reversed. He loves his brother dearly, and the abandonment had hurt, but he cannot blame the younger because it has always been _his_ job to take care of Sammy and it should never become the other way around.

Which is probably one of the reasons that this has all gone so wrong for them.

Dean has always needed someone to take care of, someone to protect, and he knows that it is a failing. He did not cope well without Sam once the younger man had gone to college and while it is nice to have his own space from time to time, he prefers to have others around him. He prefers to have something to focus on and something to worry for other than himself because it gives him a drive to continue onwards, it drives him to try and succeed where so many others would fail.

In a way Castiel's sudden transformation into a normal mud-monkey has given the hunter that something he needs to focus on. Cas has fallen into humanity because of _Dean_ and the man has every intention of taking care of his friend. He just wishes that they had more time to let Castiel get used to the change, he wishes that they did not have to dash off on a mad hunt for his little brother and, above all, he wishes that he could get his feelings for the angel straight in his head.

For months now, ever since Sam's abrupt departure the first time, Dean has been coming to associate strong feelings and desires that he has _no_ business feeling for an angel, let alone another man, with Castiel's presence. For a long time the hunter wrote them off as gratitude, and then as a result of the former angel's sometimes overwhelming presence, eventually, however, he has been forced to admit that there may be something far more genuine to them than he wants to contemplate. While Castiel was still an angel it was easy enough not to give in to the temptation to act on those desires and feelings, Dean knows that there is little wisdom in offending the being that dragged you out of Hell after all, but Cas being _human_ changes things somewhat.

For a start it levels the playing field. Dean still is not sure that he should acknowledge the emotion, the need, that he feels. It has been a week since Castiel woke up and told them what Zachariah had done, told them why, and even though the hunter has been the cause of the angel's fall from grace it has not stopped Cas from comforting Dean when he screams into the night. Somehow the fallen angel still understands that he is needed, is still able to calm the midnight fears with a gentle hand and a calm, if sometimes awkward, voice.

This is not to say that being human has weakened Castiel's resolve to prevent the apocalypse. If anything it has strengthened it, almost as though the former angel feels that he has something to prove to his superiors by preventing the end from happening as a mere human. This support means more to the hunter than he can possibly express to his friend. Castiel is still crotchety, still short tempered and he obviously dislikes a great many things about being human, but he does not let any of that stop him.

With his knowledge of angelic spells they have been able to determine Sam's destination and his next move. With his help Dean is able to track his brother down and he knows that there is a confrontation brewing between them. If he handles this wrong he could lose his brother for good, if he handles it right he could lose himself to his family and his job. He could lose sight of the care that Castiel needs to adapt to everything that has been done to him in caring for his brother and trying to get him free of the influence of the blood fed to him by Ruby.

"You must kill her," Cas is telling him late one night when they are only an hour away from Sam. Dean is desperate to get to his brother, desperate to get him away from Ruby's influence, but he has been running on little more than three hours sleep for the last two days. He has not eaten and he has drunk little more than coffee and a bottle of water. "We will have to be certain that she is not able to repeat this process on Sam at a later date."

Dean is not sure if Castiel's concern for Sam is genuine or if it is a result of the hunter being near frantic with worry, but he is grateful for it. The former angel sighs.

"Are you even listening?" He demands and Dean nods.

"Kill the demon whore, no problem," he responds blithely. It is a facade, however, and he knows that while Castiel does not see through it, Henriksen does. The Fed has not left them, although he still sleeps in a separate room, and he watches the pair of them with the kind of hawk like focus that makes Dean a little uncomfortable and Cas tilt his head in that confused way of his.

When Victor informs them that they should sleep if they are going to catch up with Sam in the morning Castiel looks like he is about to protest it, still fighting some of his more basic human needs, and Dean shakes his head. As little sleep as the hunter thinks he will get, he knows that Henriksen has a point and he follows the example the older man sets, waiting until the Fed is on his way to his own room before getting ready for bed himself. It is almost a relief to see Castiel do the same.

Sleep takes a while to find him and it is not long before Cas is rousing him from a nightmare, lights shining through a gap in the curtains allowing Dean to see the way that the former angel's blue eyes are squinting in the near darkness. He pushes the angel away, tells him to sleep and that he will amuse himself. The last several days this has been enough, apparently this time it will not be.

"I can rest in the car tomorrow," Castiel replies, voice hushed in the nearly silent room, "you _need_ to sleep."

"I'll be fine..."

"_Sleep_, Dean," Cas cuts him off and there is an order there, the hint of the fallen angel's former grace and Dean finds that he cannot disobey that, settling back onto the bed without really thinking on it and closing his eyes, half convinced that he will not manage to sleep. It comes as a complete surprise when oblivion comes to him.

He wakes early the following morning with his arms tight around a warm, firm, body and his nose buried in a shock of soft, dark, hair. It feels ridiculously natural and so it takes him a moment longer than he would like for him to place who he is holding on to so very tightly. Even when Castiel opens his eyes and looks up at him, his sleep addled brain does not process much thought beyond _right_ and _want_ and _now_. So he does what feels natural and presses his lips to those of his friend, a soft caress of early morning that Cas responds to.

He cannot help but think, in this moment, that this is exactly what he has been trying to avoid. He has been trying not to drag the angel down and break him the way that he breaks and destroys every good thing in his life and it is _this _thought that makes the hunter break away and roll out of bed. It is this thought that makes him storm into the bathroom and slam the door behind him. Castiel does not follow and Dean wonders why he had thought that the angel would.

The ride to Sam's hotel is awkward. Dean does not talk to Cas and the former angel does not look at the hunter. Henriksen sits in the passenger seat and simply watches as though this new atmosphere is of no surprise to him at all. The hunter envies the way that the Fed simply lets this fall through him, envies the focus that causes the older man to simply go with the flow and prepare for the task ahead of them.

Dean knows that both his companions are expecting to go with him when he confronts his brother. He has no intention of letting them. This is something between him and Sam alone and the presence of others, friends or not, will only serve to further inflame the situation and make the youngest Winchester feel boxed in. Dean knows how his little brother thinks and Sam does not respond well to feeling trapped.

Both object to this decision, Henriksen insisting that Dean will need him to help with the homicidal maniac that Sam has become and Castiel is simply concerned that if Sam steps in to help Ruby Dean may need the backup. He overrides both of them, Sammy is _his_ brother and he will be the only one to do this. Neither are happy, but in the end they back down and Dean heads into the hotel as he hears Victor's cell phone ring and the Fed begins a soft conversation with Bobby about seals. Dean ignores it in favour of finding Sam.

Ruby is alone when the hunter enters the room and he can tell that she is clearly expecting his brother. There is no thought and no hesitation as he reaches for the demon killing knife, the very blade that Ruby forfeited to him months ago, unfortunately she is faster than he remembers her being and she is quick enough to duck out of the way and counter his attack.

Sam's return only serves to further complicate matters, his younger brother is quick to separate the pair of them, to take the knife from the older, and even quicker at getting Ruby out of the room and out of the way before turning to Dean.

"Demon blood, Sam?" The older demands and he sees Sam flinch before the younger can cover it with a lie and that _hurts_.

"It's not what you think," his brother insists and that makes the hunter wonder.

"So tell me, Sammy," and his brother does not even try to correct him, "what is it? Because the way I see it right now, she's got you so hopped up on demon blood that you don't even know who your real friends are." He can see his brother tensing, can see Sam pulling away and that is the last thing that he wants. "I just want you to be okay, Sam."

"I am, I'm _better_ than okay, Dean," the youngest Winchester's eyes are almost fever bright and his skin is flushed. If the elder brother did not know better he would think that Sam were a drug addict who just got his fix and that thought makes him worry about how close to the truth he might actually be. "She's helping me get ready to kill Lillith! The blood just makes me stronger."

"No, Sam, no. It's just a way for her to _control_ you," he snaps, watching Sam toss the knife he still holds onto the bed. The look that the younger man throws his way is cold and his eyes flicker with barely contained emotion.

"I know you can't wrap your head around this right now, but maybe one day you'll understand. I'm the only one who can do this," Sam's tone is reasonable but there is something else there, a resentment that Dean does not understand.

"You're not the one who's going to do this," he insists because he may not hold much faith in destiny and Castiel's belief that it is going to be Dean who brings an end to this whole mess, but he does know that Sam is not going to do anyone any good as long as he is drinking straight from Ruby's veins.

"I forgot," and the resentment is clear now, "the angels think it's _you_."

"You don't think I can?" Dean knows that he is broken, he knows that Hell has damaged him in ways that Sam will never be able to comprehend, but his brother's lack of faith in him hurts more than anything else that he has ever felt.

"You're not strong enough," Sam replies, eyes dark and bitter.

"Who are you? What happened to..."

"I'm being practical here, Dean," his brother interrupts. "Why can't you see that? I'm doing what has to be done."

"You're not going to do anything," Dean hisses, taking a step closer and drawing on strength that he did not realise he held to stand up to his brother and fight to find a way to keep him as the Sammy that Dean raised.

"Stop bossing me around, Dean," the response makes the older man realise that he has spent his life giving his brother orders, almost as much as his dad ever did, and though it is reasonable to expect that Sam would one day come to resent it, he wishes that it had not been this day. "My whole life, you take the wheel, you call the shots, and I trust you because you're my brother. Now I'm asking you, for once, trust me."

"I can't, you don't know what you're doing, Sam."

"Yes, I do," his brother insists and that just makes it all so much worse because it means that it is not simply something that he is doing, it is something that his brother is. Sam knows what he is turning himself into and all he needs is for Dean to say it.

Even though it breaks his heart to do it, to call his brother this, the older Winchester says the words he wishes he would never have had to.

"It means you're a monster," he feels a tear slide from his eye as Sam swings for him and he does not try to avoid the punch.

Dean goes down hard, wipes the trickle of blood from his mouth before getting to his feet and returning the favour. They are brothers, they were trained by their father, and even though Sam has the height advantage they are both relatively equally matched. They know how to read each other, the tightening of eyes and the tensing of muscles, but this is not what Dean wants and Sam knows it. He over powers the older hunter and leaves his brother gasping on the floor as he heads for the door, obviously not willing to _kill_ his brother even if he will turn his back.

"You walk out that door," Dean gasps and he knows that the words are the wrong ones to say even as they slide past his lips, "don't you ever come back."

Sam looks at him once and closes the door behind him leaving the hunter alone.

_Artemis_


	14. Lucifer Rising

_This is it, the final chapter and I have to admit that it's a relief to get it out. Bits and pieces of it have been lurking on my hard drive since I started. Other parts just wrote themselves and I think I may even have cried at one point while writing it. It's over now, though, and I get to write a proper Hellatus fic. So what will it be. Destiel heavy post 5.22 story? Or more Gabe and Hecate in the story of Gabriel up to his untimely death? Both? Let me know!_

Lucifer Rising.

Betrayal hurts, Dean knows this because he has experienced it in the past. This time is different, however, this time it cuts closer and deeper and no matter what his friend says or does Castiel cannot break through the wall of injury to the vulnerable man within. Dean cannot let Cas see this side of him, the broken part that clings so tightly to his family, because he fears that if he does the former angel will conclude that the hunter is too damaged to bother with. He fears that if Cas sees the truth then the angel will walk away from him as surely as Sam did.

Bobby is less than sympathetic, though Dean does not know why he expected his surrogate father to be anything else. This whole situation with Sam has been building for a long time, probably since even before the youngest Winchester went to college, and, like his father, Dean has handled it badly.

They have come to Bobby because they have no where else to go where they can think, no one else to turn to who might be able to help them find a way to get Sam back before he pushes himself over the edge. The older hunter is trying to convince Dean to call his brother as the remainig Winchester stares silently off to one side, his eyes resting blankly on Castiel as he tries to figure out where everything has gone so wrong lately.

"You listen to a word I said?" Bobby demands as the younger man jolts back to reality, sees Castiel's eyes slide away to assess the decor of the room rather then continue to rest on him and he feels a flash of hurt.

"I heard you," the hunter mumbles, "I'm not calling him." He can feel Bobby's disbelieving gaze turn on him as Castiel looks back at him sharply, blue eyes narrowing as he tilts his head and tries to understand. Dean does not think that he _wants _the angel to get it.

"Don't make me get my gun, boy," Bobby responds, voice tight and Dean knows that it is a threat but nothing more. He _hopes_ that it is nothing more.

"We are damn near kickoff for Armageddon," he reminds his friend, "don't you think we got bigger fish at the moment?"

"I know you're pissed," which is most likely an understatement and he can see Castiel flinch a little at that, "and I'm not making apologies for what he's done, but he's your..."

"Blood?" The hunter finishes. "He's my blood, is that what you were gonna say?"

"Dean..." Castiel starts, trying to gain some measure of control over the situation.

"He's your brother. And he's drowning," the older man insists.

"I gotta face the facts," Dean knows that he sounds resigned."Sam never wanted part of this family. He hated this life. Ran away to Stanford the first chance he got. Now it's like deja vu all over again. Well, I am sick and tired of chasing him. Screw him, he can do what he wants."

"You don't mean that," Castiel responds before Bobby can. "Dean, I know that you have your differences but I don't believe that abandoning your brother to the manipulations of this demon is the wisest course."

"Maybe not, Cas, but Sam's gone. He's gone. I'm not even sure if he's still my brother anymore. If he ever was."

Which is when he realises that maybe he has taken the pity party a touch too far, because Bobby turns his back and clears his desk of papers in one sweep of his arms and Castiel simply backs away with a scowl. Neither of his companions is impressed and he cannot face further disapproval from Castiel when the fallen angel's opinion of him is the one that really matters right now.

"You stupid, stupid son of a bitch!" Bobby turns back to look at him, face contorted with rage and eyes filled with the kind of anguish that Dean never thought another human could feel. "Well, boo hoo, I am so sorry your feelings are hurt, princess! Are you under the impression that family's supposed to make you feel good? Make you an apple pie, maybe? They're supposed to make you miserable! That's why they're family!"

"I told him, "you walk out that door, don't come back" and he walked out anyway! That was his choice!" He is not entirely certain who it is that he is trying to convince anymore, but he is positive that it is not Bobby or Cas. Neither one of them are buying this act for a moment and he wonders when Castiel came to understand the bonds of brotherhood so deeply.

"You sound like a whiny brat. No, you sound like your dad," Bobby is not impressed in the least and Dean feels the bottom drop out of his stomach when the older man says those words. All of his life he has wanted to be like his father, wanted to be the man that his father wanted him to be and now the man who took them in and cared for them in the absence of John Winchester is making it sound like the worst thing in the world. "Well, let me tell you something. Your dad was a coward."

"My dad was a lot of things, Bobby, but a coward?" He does not want to believe it, does not want to think anything bad of his own father when he knows that the same thought has crossed his mind a number of time in the past. He has thought it in the darkest moments between hunts when Sam has been gone, or missing, in the days when John had run from the responsibility of his children. Still, he tries to deny that Bobby is right.

"He'd rather push Sam away than reach out to him. That don't strike me as brave. You are a better man than your daddy ever was. So you do both of us a favor. Don't be him."

Bobby's plea is heartfelt and Dean wishes that he could believe that he is a better man than his father, but he cannot be certain that is true. Not after Hell. Not after he broke and unlocked everything that Lillith needed to begin the Apocalypse. Not after he failed to be the big brother that Sam needed.

"You _are_ a better man, Dean," Castiel cuts in, one hand resting on the hunter's shoulder so very close to the brand that the fallen angel left there. "You simply need to have more faith in yourself. You will be the one to end this."

"Cas, you don't," he turns to look at his friend and it is as he does that the whole room seems to melt and shift into something else, some_where_ else and it is not a place that he finds comforting. It would appear that Cas does not either because the fallen angel whispers something that sounds suspiciously like 'no' and that fills Dean with utter dread.

SPN

"All of it, Sam," Ruby tells him, blue eyes wide and watching him with a frightening intensity. He sits back from the weakly struggling body of the nurse Lillith's chef is possessing and regards the demon he calls friend.

"There's an innocent woman in there, Ruby," he mutters and the blonde haired demon drops down beside him.

"I know," she mutters as she presses his head closer to the sluggishly bleeding wound, "and I wish we didn't have to kill her to do this. We don't have a choice, Lillith _has_ to be stopped."

"Dean thinks there's another way," Sam resists for a moment longer, trouble is that Ruby has only been giving him enough blood over the last few days to take the edge off and even though he has had his fill part of him still wants more.

"He's been listening to the angels," she tells him as he gives in to his desire for the blood, feeling need of another kind coiling low in his stomach in a way that sickens him, "and they haven't exactly done a stellar job of stopping her so far."

She is right, he knows that she is, and he finishes draining the now still demon as she talks about the plan. She tells him how they are going to play this, tells him why she could not sacrifice herself if they are going to stop Lillith. He listens to her with only half an ear and when she starts going over things that he already knows, and the body is drained of everything useful, he covers her lips with his bloodstained ones.

"We don't have time for this," she breathes against him, lips softly parted and she gasps as he makes quick work of her jeans.

"We'll make time," he orders and she acquiesces beneath him in the leaves and the dirt just down the road from the convent.

Later, when he is satiated and his mind bleary with power rather than lust, the pair of them sneak into the convent. Ruby is nervous, twitchy, and, for all her bravado earlier about Sam being able to do this, the hunter is suddenly worried that she does not quite have the faith in him that she claims. He puts it from his mind, wipes the demons guarding Lillith from the corridor with little more than a thought, and bursts into the abandoned chapel.

If he did not know better, he would almost say that the leader of his enemies had been waiting for him. He does not hesitate when he reaches out his hand and slams her back against the alter. He does not think as he clenches his fist and begins to squeeze at that black spark that is Lillith's unnatural life and he does not register the fact that the whole time he is killing her she does not once beg for her life. She does not offer him anything and that should jar something deep within the hunter, that should stop him. It does not and it is not until she falls with a triumphant smile on her stolen face and he feels the final shard of her shatter that he realises that something is wrong.

"You did it," Ruby's voice is exultant, her blackened eyes bright. "You did it!" She laughs, watching as the blood pouring from Lillith's broken body begins to swirl and pool in a way that should not be possible.

"What?" He demands because now that the blood is used up, the power is drained, he knows that this is not right, that this is very, very wrong. "What did I do?"

"You opened the door," if she weren't a demon Sam would say that Ruby's eyes are almost fever bright, "and now he's free at last. He's free at last!" He knows what that means, knows it means that he has just let Lucifer out of the cage and even as he is babbling and Ruby is telling him about Lillith being the final seal, Sam is wondering _how_ he could have been so stupid. He is wondering how he could have been so _blind_.

"You bitch," he whispers, "you lying _bitch_." He tries, Sam will always insist in the deepest recesses of his mind that he tried, to kill Ruby except that it is all gone. Everything that made him strong enough to kill a demon has been spent upon Lillith and the blood is still swirling and light is beginning to flood the room.

"Sticks and stones," she sing-songs. "He's going to reward you, Sam," she grins, "he's going to give you anything you want and all you have to do is say 'yes'. All you have to do is let him in."

"You know I won't do that," the light is blinding and there is a scream inside his mind that hurts his ears and terrifies him. At the same time it is familiar, it is safe, and it calls to him with the promise of revenge and love and fulfilment. It calls to him with the understanding of one utterly abandoned by his family and he finds himself drawn to it. There is a promise that the dark and angry part of his mind cannot help but give in to.

It does not take much longer for the rest of him to follow, promises of love and happiness, revenge and acceptance fills his mind with stars and dreams. He reaches for them.

SPN

Castiel knows exactly what being in this place means, he knows how close they are to the end and he knows that his presence in this room with Dean can only mean bad things for the both of them. Until a short time ago Henriksen was here with them, pacing like a caged beast and glancing at the walls with an expression of utter frustration on his face. It worries the former angel because Castiel knows that the former FBI agent has been Zachariah's creature for a long time, Castiel knows that the older man was placed among them to discover Dean's weaknesses and that can only mean even worse things.

Now, however, Henriksen is gone and the former angel and his hunter are alone. Many times since his fall Castiel has been alone with the man who was his downfall, many times he has thought of things that he should say and truths that he should tell and every time his voice has failed him. Much of it is nothing more than suspicion, the faint niggle of disbelief and the concern that seals were lost that never should have been. The more he thinks on it, the more it begins to make sense and the fallen angel stares at the man he calls 'friend' and feels the bottom drop out of his stomach.

This was never about _saving_ the world, this was always about ending it and he wonders how he has been so blind.

What he realises quickly after that is that he has been ignorant of the plan because he has faith in his Father and he once had trust in his superiors. He was everything that Zachariah needed him to be and even in his moment of disobedience he became something to be used. He became something that they could use to manipulate Dean and that can only something potentially terrible.

"Any ideas?" The hunter demands and Castiel knows that the man wants a way out. He wishes that he could give it to him and is already trying to come up with some way of managing it as Dean speaks again. "This isn't a good thing, is it?"

"No," he lays a hand against one wall and looks back at his friend.

"Do you think Sam's okay?" It warms the former angel that even after their argument, even after Dean telling his little brother to leave, the hunter can still fall back on the family first.

"I don't know," he responds honestly, going back to Dean's side and laying a careful hand on the man's shoulder. "But if we're here then it's near the end. Zachariah still needs you to end this and he'll use Sam, Bobby, anyone that you care about to get you to do as he wishes."

"You too?" Dean whispers and for a moment Castiel thinks that he has heard wrong. There is something, however, in the way that Dean looks at him that tells the angel that the hunter is genuinely concerned and he nods.

"Yes, although quite why," whatever else he is going to say is cut off by the feel of Dean's dry lips on his own. The kiss is hard and desperate and Castiel knows that this one will go as unspoken of as the others since Dean told Sam to leave. He returns it, embracing the feeling that races through him, because this is why he had his grace taken from him.

"How touching," the voice of his former leader cuts through Castiel as the two men part with startled oaths. The fallen angel is not far from the hunter, however, his hand still lightly grasping Dean's arm.

"Zachariah," the disgust in Dean's voice is clear and Castiel wishes that the hunter would learn to keep a handle on his emotions, wishes that he would learn to keep his opinions to himself. "To what do we owe the inconvenience?"

"It's the end of the world," the angel smirks. "Judgement day has arrived and you know something? It's all your fault."

"How dare you," Castiel hisses and feels Zachariah's sharp eyes fall on him, feels the contempt there.

"I'll get to _you_ in a minute," the angel snaps his fingers and Castiel finds his voice halted, the words forming on his lips but no sound issuing. He knows that he could be screaming in agony and no one would ever hear a sound.

"What the hell?" Dean demands, taking a step closer and Zachariah tuts.

"We need to talk, _without_ interruptions from Castiel." Dean's expression sends chills down the fallen angel's spine, but he knows that his former superior is unconcerned by the hunter's murderous dislike. "This is your fault you know."

"Oh really?"

"Of course. You broke the first seal. You couldn't get your brother away from a demon whore. You subverted the loyalties of one of my most trusted soldiers and you drove Sam straight into Lucifer's waiting arms. Naturally it's your fault."

Castiel wants to scream at Dean to turn his back, wants to yell at the hunter to ignore Zachariah in this. He wants to call out for Gabriel and hope that his brother will respond and he knows that it is a fruitless dream. From Dean's pinched expression and dangerously vulnerable eyes Castiel knows that the words of the angel have hit home hard and viciously.

"You son of a bitch!" Dean snaps and Castiel takes hold of his arm to prevent him from lashing out at Zachariah, knows that it will not do either of them any good and wishes that he could do the same. He wishes that he were brave enough to do that same.

"Ah, but, Dean, we're giving you a chance to _fix_ this," there is a gleam in the angel's eyes that makes Castiel tighten his hold on Dean and pull him back. It makes the fallen angel's stomach clench and his breath catch in his silenced throat because he knows what Zachariah is about to offer and he is terrified that Dean is about to take him up on it. "You can fix all of your screw ups and do what you're best at, you can clean up after Sam too."

"Sam's a grown man, he can make his own mistakes," Dean insists and Castiel feels a moment of pride at that even though he knows that it is all false bravado.

"So you'll let the world burn for your _pride_?" There is a sneer and a joy in Zachariah's words, the justification of so many centuries of silent dislike and overt distrust in the human race. "All you have to do is give up control of your body for a few short days, you just have to say 'yes' to Michael and when Lucifer is laid to waste by him you can have paradise. We'll give you everything you ever wanted and all the things you never knew you did."

"And if I say no?" Dean asks and Castiel cheers him for having that thought because there has to be a way of stopping this without resorting to the final battle. He wonders where their Father is in all of this, he wonders why He has not put a stop to this.

"Lucifer wins, the world burns and everyone dies." Zachariah's summery of what could happen is quick, precise, and Castiel knows that he is running out of patience with this. Gone are the days, however, when the word of an angel would be enough to send whole armies into battle. Gone are the days when man would obey their orders to the letter for fear of angering a Father they could neither see nor hear.

"If I do this, what'll happen to Cas?" The fallen angel looks at him sharply, can see the intensity in Dean's eyes that means that the man has a plan and that this will not end well for Castiel.

"He disobeyed," Zachariah shrugs, "he'll stay as he is, grow old, die and more than likely he'll end up in Hell."

"No," the word is sharp, decisive and Castiel knows that Zachariah has won this time. The angel has won everything because he can feel what is coming, can feel the condition that Dean is going to make, and as loud as he tries to shout there is nothing coming out. The frantic movements of his lips, the terror in his eyes, is doing nothing to stop Dean from destroying himself. "I do this," Dean hesitates and glances at Castiel with an apology in his eyes, "I do this and you give Cas his mojo back. You take him back into the garrison, or whatever, and don't punish him anymore for helping me."

"What makes you think you can bargain with me, boy?"

"Because you need me to say 'yes'," there is a coolness to Dean's tone that Castiel knows is all a lie, knows that it is not fooling the angel in the room and he wants to warn the hunter to end this foolishness.

"There are other ways of making you agree."

"I survived ninety years on the rack, you willing to risk it taking that long again to break me?"

Castiel may not know exactly what the plan is, but he knows that the angels do not have that kind of time. Dean may not realise it, but he has struck on the one thing that could make Zachariah agree to any of his crazy terms.

"Anything _else_?" Zachariah demands and Dean's lips quirk as Castiel feels his heart sink through the floor. This is the end of it all and there is nothing more that he can do. His mind is screaming and he can feel his soul trying to reach for Dean as the anguish and despair clamour through his head.

"Sam..."

"Is already beyond us," the hunter is cut off, "but if you do this there may be a way to get him back."

"Alright," Dean mumbles, "yes."

There is triumph on the face of the angel as he begins to chant and summon the highest of the archangels to the room. Castiel covers his eyes, still too human and alone, the words _no_ and _please_, _don't_ and _Dean_ skittering through his mind and forming soundless in the shriek that is his leader. The brilliance of Michael infuses him as grace returns and the voices of his brethren clash together in his head.

He wishes that it could be the glory it once was.

He wishes that he did not have to watch the world burn.

SPN

Gabriel feels the instant that Lucifer gains his true vessel, feels it in that deep and bone chilling ache that calls him to the side of the one who was once the most beautiful of them all. Hecate hears him hiss, must feel his body shudder, and sits up in the soft white sand, turning a tanned hand to touch the pale expanse of his chest. He takes hers in his own and squeezes, finding comfort in the touch of one who will not force him to chose.

"What is it?" She whispers, flicking a strand of hair from her face with her free hand.

"Lucifer."

"Will you go to him?" The question is valid and he shakes his head as he sits up. "Should we warn the others?"

"No," they have tried that once already and it nearly got Hecate killed, will get him killed if Lucifer finds him and Gabriel has no interest in dying just yet. "I'm sure they'll do just fine on their own."

"Alright," Hecate snaps and her blood red bikini changes into a dress of deep green, "what now?"

"One last hurrah?" He offers and he knows that there is a twinkle in his eye by the way that she smiles. Her other hand slips into his and a soft finger caresses his knuckles. It startles him for a second and he knows that he does not quite keep the surprise from his face. Her answering grin is challenging and for the first time in centuries he whisks them both away under the true power of his many wings.

Hecate's delighted laugh is something that he knows he will carry with him.

They fling leprechauns at a group of bankers for a couple of hours until they grow bored, then they replace all the horses at a riding school which mistreats it's animals with unicorns. Turns out that not even _half_ the people using the place are qualified to ride one, although Gabriel does not know whether he feels respect or pity for the sixty year old woman who does manage a ride. He has to laugh, however, when two nuns cannot even get close to he animals.

All to soon he feels that bizarre pleasure pain of Michael singing through him, the call of a brother he has not seen in centuries. Hecate feels it too, this time, feels the way that the energy in the earth that she draws a measure of her strength from shifts. He knows that she senses it from the way that she stumbles to her knees as the pair of them arrive near Lawrence, Kansas, where the final big battle is to take place. Gabriel just wants to be there for a moment, a brief second where he can feel his brothers in one place and hope that they can work it out between them.

He pulls his pagan goddess close as the first tendrils of his brothers combined grace begins to seep from the graveyard, feels the ground at his feet warm with holy fire and the body in his arms shudder. He turns her face up so that he can look at her dark eyes and lets her see the tears that shine in his own amber orbs as he gently brushes salty liquid from her cheeks with the tiniest of kisses.

He weeps for his brothers. She weeps for the world and they stand together at the graveyard and watch. They stand as brother turns upon brother, they watch as swords flash and grace flickers and they hold each other as the screams of angels fills the air.

The world burns around them and silently an archangel wraps his wings around a pagan goddess. The world burns and they weep for it.

Fin.

_Umm, I think I broke the world, but that last line has been written since I finished the first chapter. And now I'm going to hide from flying objects. Please don't fling too many sharp things in my direction._

_Artemis_


End file.
